


Padrilon's Bastards

by GoldenEmpire



Category: Original Work
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Action, Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Angst, Bath Houses, Betrayal, Blindfolds, Bondage, Brothels, Childhood Friends, Cute, Denial, Drama, Eloping (Kind of), Elves, Falling In Love, Fantasy, Fighting, Fingering, First Kiss, Fluff, Friendship, Gentle Sex, Hate Sex, Heartbreak, Height difference, Humans, Insecurity, Kidnapping, Kissing, Loss of Virginity, Love Confessions, Loving Sex, M/M, Make-outs, Marking, Medieval, Mermen, NSFW, Nymphs - Freeform, Old-Fashioned, Original work - Freeform, Plot, Porn, Prostitution, Racism against Species, Rimming, Rough Sex, Sex, Shapeshifters - Freeform, Size Difference, Slow Burn, Small age gaps, Smut, So fluffy omgg, Tension, Voyeurism, Werewolves (kinda), Witches, battles, emotional af, forehead kissing, gay af, general adorableness, hand holding, happiness, happy endings, loads of love, neck biting, teach me senpai
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-08-21 18:21:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 62,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8255744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenEmpire/pseuds/GoldenEmpire
Summary: The White Tower bathhouse is a brothel where rich clients get to sleep with bastard children of royals.Arfer is one of them, and Lese is the guard who's in love with him. Thomar's the new prostitute, and his virginity is being auctioned off to the highest bidder. Adrael is a client who swears he only likes women, and yet he can't keep his hands off Chardwen.





	1. The Beginning

**Padrilon's Bastards - Characters**

 

**Prostitutes:**

Arfer "Arty" Dan-Ra, 18

Chardwen "Dwen" Ea'nas, 18

Thomar "Thom" Sung-Orah, 16

Cvernia Merilnyëfu, 20

 

Leophinia "Leo" Miteodicia, 19

Wilawil "Will" Dormathal, 19

 

 

Halisen "Hal" Thalorantari, 17

Risja Gaulta, 16

Danfrea Rommand, 15

 

**Guards:**

Lese Docnyae, 22

 

Lenmax "Max" Gwen'roy, 25

Helmchet Royalf, 26

 

 **Owners:** _**  
** _

Amar-Ana Padrilon, 49

Varr Padrilon, 23

 

 **Guests:** _**  
** _

Thris Othryth, 20

Iriro Anashe, 20

Nalia Rismos, 18

Ranesso Darlor, 19

 

**Workers at the Veiled Lady:**

Ormsama "The Veiled Lady"

Gais, 19

Moet Noan, 20

 

**The Killingard:**

Auri, 17

 Muragh, 48

 

 Caragar

Iveranti, 35

 

 


	2. The Beginning

_Amar-Ana Padrilon opened the White Tower Bathhouse right after the War of the Trees, during which the combined forces of Humans and Shapeshifters crushed the forces of the Nurturers and constructed the Freedom Decree, which stated that slavery was henceforth permitted. The Kingdom of Wynao was drowned in poverty, sickness and political unrest. There were several assassinations attempts on Queen Fareye Eleana Cartottay, whose reign began at the tender age of fifteen. Seeing the way commoners lived, Padrilon decided to make something of himself while the kingdom was still weak after the war._

_The one thing people_ always  _needed, was food, warmth, and sex. Padrilon knew first hand how the latter was important, how men didn't feel like men until they've fucked something. Whorehouses were sprouting up like mushrooms, all of them cheap and reeking, and more likely to give you a slit throat than anything else. Padrilon didn't want to be another brothel owner with old, saggy men and women shouting at common, flea-ridden passerby's from windows._

_With the last of the money his father left him, the young man went and bought a big, rundown tower-house just outside the city walls. The building was ringed with trees so it seemed private and secluded. For years Padrilon worked hard to repair the place, and change it into what he wanted - a bathhouse. He made sure he imported expensive carpets from overseas, and that he had scented bath oils and clean feather-beds. It drained him financially but it attracted clients. No, not common men and women from the dirty streets - Lords and Ladies and Barons and Emperors. They paid good coin for good service._

_And then, as Padrilon got richer and his son was born, he decided to go further still. He was still young and fit, so he travelled around Wynao, sniffing around and passing money into dirty hands on street corners for information. He found big mansions and rich people, and paid them to give away their children born out of wedlock. The young boys and girls were most like to end up starving on the streets, but Padrilon managed to gather eight of them, and he took them back to White Tower._

_They were very young them, so Padrilon raised them and schooled them the way of the world. He schooled them, and taught them to read and write, and look pretty. And as they grew up in the bathhouse, they learned their responsibilities. When they were old enough the bathhouse became something more - a pleasure house. The now young adults were taught the way of pleasure, sex and how to please a partner. And thanks to his Bastards, Padrilon became rich._

_ _

**-ARFER-**

The large oval space where the attic of the White Tower Bath-house should have been was buzzing. There were nine large feather-beds arranged in a semi circle around a roaring hearth in the middle of the room. The drafts that came in through the tall, Gothic windows made the room dreadfully cold even in the summer, but the hearth kept all the occupants of the room warm. It was a beautiful room - a creamy wallpaper covered the walls, a thick, warm carpet laid on the floor. There were light, white drapes in the windows and candles on all surfaces, to add some lights to the spacious room. Several tables were pushed together on the one side of the dorm-room that, and they was littered with blushes and powders and black charcoal to line the eyes. Bright and flowy clothes spilled out of the wardrobe, alongside two dozen white kimonos which the Bastards wore during the day, when they operated the baths that took up three floors of the grand house. A charcoal board hung next to the closet, with names and numbers on them. 

An eighteen year old man laid on one of the beds. The blankets were pulled back, the pillow lying on the floor as the boy was sprawled on top of the covers. He wore a simple black shirt that had a low enough neckline to expose his jutting-out collarbone. His porcelain skin made a stunning contrast with his dark shirt. His raven hair was like feathers against his cheeks, falling into his big, almond-shaped eyes every time he blinked. He was beautiful - as everyone else in the room - but perhaps the most endearing thing about him were his ears - slightly too big, and slightly sticking out, adding to his adorableness. Arfer Dan-Ra was done with his work for the night and now was dozing off, listening to the others talking.

"So I've heard that there will be a new person joining us tomorrow," Risja Gaulta said mysteriously from her own bed, on which she sat cross-legged. In a perfect world she'd be growing up in a mansion somewhere in the countryside, as the daughter of the Viscount of Aellake. Instead the sixteen-year old was here, in a bathhouse, as his bastard. She didn't seem to mind though - she was smiling, her brown eyes sparkling, her auburn locks falling down to her breasts. She hadn't bothered to change out of her kimono, "you know, a person to fill the ninth bed," she glanced at the one empty bed near the doorway. As far as Arfer's memory went, that one was always vacant. Nobody knew why, but everyone simply suspected that Padrilon never found someone to fill it.

"Aye," a boy agreed with Risja excitedly. He had just come in and now proceeded to strip off of his flowy shirt and trousers right in the middle of the room. His dark curls bounced with every move as he revealed his tanned, slightly muscled body, "I heard it's the daughter of the _Queen._ "

"Stop baring yourself, Chardwen!" Cvernia Merilnyëfu scoffed. She was the oldest of them all, already twenty, but looked none the less beautiful. Her dark skin glimmered in the candle-light, her short, caramel curls framing her heart-shaped face, "and besides - it won't be the Queen's child. If anything it might be her  _bastard_."

"Will it even be a child?" Risja wrinkled her little nose as she pondered on her question, "we were all taken together, but if this is a newborn..."

"Maybe they're our age," Arfer interrupted, tired of just listening. He was too hyperactive to ever stay quiet for too long. 

"And what?" the naked boy, Chardwen Ea'nas, the bastard of Lord Yadai of Chase Castle, the same age as Arfer, snorted as he climbed underneath his blankets, still as bare as the day he was born, "she managed to sneak around under Padrilon's nose without the devil catching him?"

"He's right," Risja agreed excitedly. Arfer rolled his eyes - the two always got all too excited about things, "if she's truly the daughter of the Queen,then Padrilon must've known about her! You know how he is - he wouldn't have let such an opportunity pass him by!"

"Which means the new girl  _must_ still be a child," Chardwen concluded happily.

"Or maybe," Arfer sat up, "I'm right and she  _is_ our age. Maybe she was hidden all these years and only now Padrilon found out about her-"

"Nice try, kid," Cvernia fondly ruffled his feather-soft hair. He glared at her but she just smiled, "But I think if the Queen had a bastard, we'd know."

A person sat up abruptly in one of the beds. He was pretty in the way a girl might be, and from the delicate structure of his face it was clear he was a nymph. His dark brown hair was in disarray, his eyes flashing between dark brown and blue in anger. He had clearly been asleep,

"Will you all _shut up_?!" he hissed angrily, glaring heatedly at the others in the room. Everyone winced,

"Sorry, Hal," Risja winced. Halisen Thalorantari might've been the Bastard son of the Duke of Varrock Point, but sometimes he acted like a commoner.

"You will be sorry," he growled now, "when I find you tomorrow morning and snap your neck over breakfast. You will drown in our porridge, Risja."

"We'll be quiet now," Cvernia said in her calm, soothing noise, "Go to sleep, Grumpy."

Cvernia was the only person the seventeen-year old listened to, so he tucked himself back underneath his mountain of pillows and blankets, grumbling. For a second the room was silent, the only noise coming from the crackling hearth. Arfer exchanged an amused look with Cvernia, still standing into the middle of the room, and they both dissolved into quiet giggles and sniggers, pulling Dwen and Risja with them. 

"Goodnight!" the auburn haired beauty whisper-yelled as she slipped underneath her own blankets, not bothering to change out of her kimono. 

"Night, Risja," Cvernia came over and kissed the top of the girl's head, like a doting older sister. She came over to Chardwen and also kissed his forehead, "Night Dwen."

"Night Fern," Chardwen said, happy as a puppy. Cvernia's shadow fell over Arfer, who was still sitting up. He smiled at her when she kissed his cheek,

"Night Arty," she whispered, grinning.

"Night Fern," Arfer replied.

"Goodnight Arty!" Chardwen proclaimed loudly and Arfer winced,

"Goodnight idiot," he sighed, "goodnight Risja."

Risja was already asleep. Cvernia tiptoed past empty beds to her own one and Arfer lied down. He knew that three of the Bastards were still downstairs working and he also knew he probably wouldn't fall asleep until they were all safely back in their beds. He was weird like that - protective. Not as much as Cvernia, of course, she was like their own personal mother. But still, Arty felt uneasy if they weren't all together.

He laid in his bed, awake, staring at the canopy overhead. He could hear the crickets playing their tune outside in the autumn night, and hear the wood crackle as it was greedily swallowed up by the flames in the hearth. It was a good life, Arfer supposed. He knew a big part of the kingdom was drowned in poverty and sickness. He could be like every other young person on the streets - starving or selling themselves for mere bronze coins that he used to buy dinner in one of the shops where you never knew what you were eating. Instead he was lying on silks, dressed in velvet, in a bath-house. Of course, the price for a full belly and a roof over his head was to sell his body too, but he went for a much higher price. He was Arfer Dan-Ra after all, the Bastard son of Seona Baou, the Merman Ambassador, and the Baroness of Ayrethwaithe, the Lost Island Kingdom, who bought herself into the good graces of the Blades by willingly giving away  _all_ of her children as hostages. Of course, Arfer wasn't her real child, so he was given to Padrilon. 

The door burst open and the three latecomers tumbled into the room, laughing and squealing. That was the thing about Padrilon's Bastards; they could have just gone through the most disgusting, rough fuck, but at the end of the day it was just a fuck and they could move past it and laugh about it. One of the three Bastards who just came in was a tall, willowy half-elf girl with long pale pink hair. She wore a short, see-through gown that exposed most of her body, inked with beautiful designs. Her name was Leophinia Miteodicia, a child of the Emperor Asleif. 

"Guess who just hit two hundred and ninety-nine on the Love Board?!" she bellowed, sprinting through the room to the blackboard on the wall. 

"You?" Arfer asked excitedly. He had a bet going that by the end of the month Leo would beat Cvernia, who was currently leading by five points. The Love Board was a way for the Bastards to make a game out of their job - for every fuck you got a point and the person with most points won. They just didn't know when to stop the game yet. Leophinia rubbed out the number ninety-eight next to the name _Danfrea Rommand_ , and replaced it with a new number.

"No!" Leophinia turned around and with a bright smile sprinted towards Danfrea Rommand - the fifteen-year old daughter of the Duchess of Cortense, with a shy smile and big silver eyes that matched the hair that fell to her chin in a curtain. Leophinia took Danfrea into her arms and spun her around, laughing wildly, and for a second the two girls were just a blur of pink and silver, "Danny did! Almost three hundred, you're so close!" she set the girl down and both of them were flushed and giggling. 

The boy who was with them, with wild flame-coloured hair that fell into his brown eyes, moved past the two to the board so he could change the number next to  _Wilawil Dormathal_ from one eighty five to one eighty six. Arfer grinned as Leophinia continued gushing over Danfrea, who was looking at her timidly.

"Vern's still winning by a mile!" Arfer said as he sat up with a grin. Cvernia shrugged,

"Not a mile, Leo's almost catching up," she explained. Chardwen also sat up, 

"How much do I have?!" he asked, pouting. Wilawil squinted at the board,

"Hmm...two?"

"Very funny, Will," Dwen rolled his eyes as a peal of laughter went through the other Bastards. Wilawil grinned at him and then tackled the surprised dark haired boy onto the bed. The two began mock-wrestling, laughing,

"I'm still beating you with forty-three points, you little shit," the fiery boy laughed. Chardwen flipped them over and playfully punched Will in the shoulder,

"I'll catch up!" the boy laughed. Everyone was laughing, everyone was happy. Arfer slipped out of bed, feeling weirdly awake. Risja slept right through the commotion. 

"Well done, Danny," Arfer said. The silver girl's smile widened and she ran at Arfer, hugging him tightly. She was easily a head shorter than him so he laughed and kissed the top of her silvery head. She was like a little sister, "You're catching up  _fast_."

"Let's celebrate!" Leo stood on her bed, a bottle of wine in her hand. Cvernia gaped at her,

"Where in seven hells did you get that?"

"None of your business, freckles," Leo jumped off of her bed and with a loud  _thump._ Suddenly Hal rose up, his eyes seeming to burn. The potted plant on his nightstand trembled and then the roots broke the clay and dirt spilled onto the carpet. Everyone froze. Halisen was fuming,

"Go. The fuck," he seethed, "to sleep!" 

The door burst open for the second time that night and all of the bastards jumped - except for Risja, who was still blissfully passed out. A big, muscular man stood in the door, his jaw clenched, his eyes shooting lightning. His blonde hair was scraped back, his massive hand on the sword at his belt. Dwen rolled off of Will and Leo quickly shoved her bottle of wine under her pillow. Arfer swallowed past the bump in his throat and automatically backed up into the shadow of the wall, trying to not make the man see him. Out of the three guards at the White Tower, Helmchet Royalf was no doubt the worst. Whenever Padrilon wasn't looking, he'd make sure the Bastards were afraid.

Arfer knew from personal experience that Helmchet wasn't scared to get handsy. He still remembered the bruises he had on his wrist when he tried to run from the guard after a badly placed prank that he and Leophinia played. And he had almost broken Hal's ankle once, something the boy clearly remembered from the way his face paled. Nothing, not Padrilon's rare anger or a weirdly rough client, put the Bastard's as much on edge as Helmchet. They knew that if they told Padrilon about him, the man would fire the guard, and yet none of the eight ever opened their mouth. 

"Why are you not asleep?" Helmchet growled now, stepping into the room so only half of his face was illuminated by the hearth.

"We're going now," Cvernia said, her voice surprisingly stable. Helmchet gave her a cold, amused grin,

"Aye, you can go," he said, stepping closer, "To my bed but nowhere else."

"Helmchet," Leophinia slid in front of Cvernia protectively, "It's alright now - please leave."

"Don't give me orders, whore," Helmchet spat. His spittle sizzled in the hearth where in landed. Arfer felt sick. He took Danny's hand and pulled the younger girl behind himself, just in case things got ugly. Sometimes it was hard to believe how fast a situation could change.

"We'll go to sleep now," Chardwen said hurriedly, "We apologise for the noise."

"You're forgetting yourselves," Helmchet turned in a circle, his cold eyes sweeping the Bastards, "You're forgetting that the only reason that you are here, and not on the cold streets, is to entertain the guests. As far as I'm concerned you've done your job for tonight," his eyes landed on Arfer and the boy swallowed past his fear as the guard advanced on him. He towered over him, and Arfer knew he was too weak and skinny to fight him, even if he wanted to, "unless you want to end up on the street, letting any dirty stranger with some coin fuck you," he gripped Arfer's chin roughly in his gloved hand. The boy sucked in a startled breath as his heart pounded and Helmchet's hand tightened. Danny gripped at the back of Arfer's shirt fearfully, "Then I suggest you shut the fuck up," Helmchet seethed into Arfer's face. The boy held his breath as he felt his stomach clench with fear.

"We'll sleep now," he heard Cvernia's voice, as if through mist, and Helmchet let him go. He smirked at the group, his eyes lingering on Arfer, and turned on his heel before striding out of the room and slamming the door. Everything was silent for a while and then Danny collapsed against Arfer's back and started crying. The Bastards rushed to Arfer, even Hal, and Risja finally woke up. Will started to explain to her what happened as Vern touched Arfer's chin tentatively.

"You're going to bruise," she informed him quietly.

"Fuck," Arfer swore, feeling his heart plummet to the ground. If he bruised then he'd get less clients - the royals liked their whores fresh and pretty and unmarred. Arfer touched his jaw and winced - he couldn't tell Padrilon about Helmchet, because he was _not_ risking getting killed. But now had no idea how he was going to explain to the boss how he magically bruised over-night. 

"Stand still," Cvernia said quietly, and her dark eyes glowed gold for a second. Her hand swept against Arfer's chin, and the boy felt a numbness pass through his body. Cvernia stepped back, "There - as good as new. Helmchet needs to back off or one of these days I'll kill him," her voice sounded weak. The little magic the witch used drained her, and her knees buckled.

*** 

The man finished on his stomach and Arfer let out a well-practised gasp. Thanks to the blindfold on his eyes he wasn't forced to see the fat duke on-top of him, but he could still hear him, panting like a dog in heat. Arfer's hands curled around the ribbons binding him to the headboard as the Duke collapsed on top of him, all sweaty and heavy. Arfer fought an annoyed groan and the wish to kick the man off. He really couldn't complain - he could either wear a blindfold and imagine someone else fucking him, or put the blindfold on his partners, and roll his eyes at them during sex. It was a great deal - Arfer could hide or be hidden. The other part that he was specifically trained in was role-play, another thing that let him be someone he wasn't. Besides, it was amusing to hear some of the rich men's ridiculous fantasies.

Others had in worse - at least in Arfer's opinion - for example Will had a much more hardcore version of the bondage Arfer was subjected to, alongside things to do with knives, hot wax and whips, though the boy seemed to enjoy that aspect of his work. That was Will - nothing could be mediocre for him, if he was going to be fucked, he wanted to be  _fucked,_ through and through. 

"Thank you, sweetheart," the Duke reminded Arfer of his presence by whispering - in a way that he probably thought was sensual - into the boy's ear. Arfer fought the cringe and smiled, even though he still couldn't see anything,

"The pleasure's all mine, sir," he said, honey-sweet. He heard the Duke heave himself to his feet and waddle away. The second the doors closed behind him, Arfer reached up and easily undid the bonds on his wrists. The ribbons were deliberately made so Arfer could free himself if something went wrong with the client. The boy sat up on the bed and pulled off his blindfold. It was still early and despite the drawn curtains and the burning candles, Arfer wasn't tired or even drowsy. Not only had he not climaxed, he hadn't even gotten aroused, not that that was anything new. Thankfully, rich men had the habit of not being able to see further than their own pleasure. 

Arfer cleaned his stomach, gathered himself up and picked up his silk kimono from the floor. 

"Gods damn it," he swore when he saw the tears in the delicate fabric. That clumsy Duke must've ripped it when he was trying to get Arfer into bed, as if scared he'd run away. Arfer sighed, slipped the kimono on anyway, and went into the corridor. The first two floors and the dungeon of the massive house were made for the baths and a mess hall, the next two were sleeping and 'fucking' quarters for the guests. The floor above was the dorm-room of the Bastards. Padrilon's and his son's apartments were in a smaller building right next to White Tower. Outside, there were stables and a large courtyard for the guests' horses and carriages. 

When Arfer came out into the corridor, he could hear moans from next door. He stood for a second, listening, and concluded that it was Halisen, probably sleeping with a much older man. That was his forte, since the older Lords seemed to prefer either the girls or boys who looked like girls. Arfer made sure that there was nobody else on the corridor, and then he quickly walked down it, and then up the stairs to where the dorm-room was. Cvernia had magicked the door so it only opened to Padrilon, the guards (unfortunately) and the Bastards. That way no unwanted guest (apart from Helmchet) could come in for a 'second round.' 

Arfer swiped his hand along the smooth, dark wood and the door disappeared in front of him into wisps of dark, grey smoke, curling around his face playfully. When Arfer stepped inside, the smoke re-arranged itself back into its solid structure. The dorm-room was in the same state of disarray as always - clothes strewn across the floor, scent bottles lying around, bed covers thrown back. The only other person in the room was Wilawil, sitting on his bed without a shirt. His amber hair was wet which meant he must've taken a bath, and his chest and stomach was peppered with small, angry red cuts.

"You're not working," Arfer said, instead of a hello as he made for the closet. Wilawil looked up,

"Are you seeing this?" he complained, gesturing at his stomach, "I told that puffed-up Count that he had to be careful! I'm supposed to be working down at the baths but i can't go out like this!"

"Find Cvernia, she'll fix it," Arfer said as he picked out a clean, un-ripped kimono. He tugged off the old one and put the new one on hurriedly.

"What happened to that?" Will asked, looking at the rip. Arfer rolled his eyes,

"Client decided to 'rip my clothes off,'" he shook his head, amused. Will rolled his eyes,

"They sure are getting careless," he sighed.

"I'm going to bathe," Arfer wrinkled his nose at the stickiness on his stomach. He felt gross, "Can you change my score to three hundred and three?" he asked. Will nodded, "Hope your cuts get better."

"Hope so," Wilawil said gloomily, going back to the book that he had open in his lap. Up on the roof there was a little dome, underneath which there was a large bath specially for the Bastards and the guards. From the outside the glass was murky, so you couldn't see inside, but once in you could admire the sky open above you. When Arfer came outside it was cold and windy, said sky a steely grey. He ducked his head and hurried to bath. 

As a merman, he loved water. When he slipped into the foamy warmth, Arfer sighed in relief. He felt the pleasant tingling indicating that his body was changing, and as the water rippled around him, his legs slid together to form a pale, silvery tail. Short fins sprouted from his hips and gills opened at his throat. Arty relaxed into the water and closed his eyes with a pleased sigh. The water worked miracles on his aching thighs. 

Arfer knew he didn't have much time - soon he'd have to go back to the bathhouse and take care of the clients. Still, for now he enjoyed a moment of peace and privacy. He liked to sit in the spacious bath and think. The boy watched steam lazily curl up to the glass dome, only to dejectedly come back down. He moved his tail, sending some droplets of water up into the air, and watched his scales shimmer. Arfer brushed his wet, black hair from his forehead and sunk deeper into the deliciously warm water.

He wasn't the oldest, but he wasn't the youngest either. It was no secret that Padrilon relied on them to attract their clients, and to do that they had to be young, beautiful and skilled. Skilled? If Arfer was anything it was that. Since he was fourteen he had been taught the ins and outs of the human body alongside Wilawil, who was the only other eighteen year old at the bathhouse. Arty knew how to give pleasure and how to satisfy men, how to bring them to a climax using silky blindfolds, silkier binds and his own body. He had been told a thousand times that he was beautiful - by his fellow Bastards back when they all believed they needed a pep talk before a fuck, by Padrilon as a casual comment the same way you might say 'isn't the weather wonderful?,' and of course by dozens of his own clients. All those rich men believed that Arfer actually wanted to hear their honey words, like he hadn't hear them hundreds of times before. It stopped making an impression on Arfer a long, long time ago, to the point when now he looked right past someone's appearance and paid attention to the way they acted, the way they spoke, the way they moved. That was much more interesting.

So Arfer was beautiful and skilled - the age was the problem. You could argue eighteen wasn't the end of the world as he still had a few years left. But what then? Arty hated saying this but he had grown accustomed to being an expensive whore, and the idea of trying to find a job somewhere else, when all he knew how to do was fuck, was terrifying. His thoughts drifted to Cvernia - the dark beauty was twenty, and she only had a year left at the White Tower. Arfer worried about what would happen to her after that.

The door creaked open and Arfer splashed at the water as he turned around automatically, shoulders tensing. He hated surprises, loud noises, anything that made his heart pound so he twisted around, his tail twitching nervously, to see who had come to disturb his peace.

"Relax," the man grinned at him, half cocky and half amused, "It's only me."

Arfer relaxed ever so slightly in the water, "Lese," he said, feeling like he just swallowed something sour. Lese Docnyae was a guard at the White Tower for as long as Arfer could remember. He started off as a lanky, awkwardly tall barely man, a few years older than Arty himself. Now he was none of those things. He grew into his height and moved past the era of pimples and trying to grow a beard so now he looked...well. Lese was a handsome man, Arfer couldn't argue with that. Messy dark hair, smouldering blue eyes, a tanned, muscular body, a nicely trimmed beard. But Arty could look past that - he could look past the fact that Lese Docnyae looked like the devil come to possess him (in more ways than one). 

Arfer didn't like him, simple as that. Before their jobs taught them that Lese was meant to be strong, and fuck people up with his sword and Arfer was meant to  _be_ fucked, they were rivals. Rivals on the same page, fighting in hallways and shoving each other at banquets. But Arty couldn't rival with Lese as a whore, and he was pretty sure the only thing he'd achieve by shoving Lese was hurting himself. But it was more than that; Lese was an arrogant, big-headed, compulsive, rude, careless...

"I don't know how long you've been soaking in there for," Lese said, glancing at Arfer who was busy glaring heatedly, "but I wish to bathe."

"So?" Arfer asked incredulously, crossing his skinny arms over his equally skinny chest, "I was here  _first._ "

"Still a child I see," Lese's blue eyes sparkled with amusement as he slid out of his breeches. He must've left his armour outside. Arfer's eyes slid over Lese's tanned, muscular chest and then went to look up at the steely sky, asking the Gods for patience to deal with the fool. Lese shucked off his boots.

"I don't know what you think you're doing-" Arfer started, but Lese ignored him and just sank into the other side of the large bath. It was big enough for all the Bastards to comfortable fit into it, but the idea of sharing it with Lese made Arfer angry. It was too late though, because the man was already comfortably submerged, looking at Arfer over the steaming water as if he wanted to challenge him. 

"The water's contaminated!" Arty complained and hauled himself up so he was sitting on the edge, his tail splashing at the water, "I told you I was here first!"

"And I told you that I wish to bathe," Lese shrugged as if he didn't see the problem. Arfer felt his cheeks heat up, though he didn't know whether it was from the warm water of from embarrassment, "I don't see you being in a hurry to get out," Lese pointed out, leaning back and closing his eyes. Arfer pulled his tail over the edge of the bath so he was sitting next to it, leaning back on his arms,

"Not very bright as usual," Arfer grumbled. Lese opened one eye,

"Ah - yes, the tail situation."

"It's rude of you to not even let me dry off," Arfer complained as slowly the water evaporated from his scales.

"I'm not here to be nice," Lese shrugged. Arfer wanted to hit him,

"It wouldn't kill you to," he said, "besides, what is with you and following me around? I swear lately you're always where I am."

"Maybe you're the one following me," Lese offered with a wink, "If you want to confess your love then don't fret, I'll let you down gently big-ears."

Arfer flushed even harder, wishing his tail to dry faster and fighting the urge to slap his hands over his oversized ears, "You're delirious - and don't presume to call me that," he stuttered, looking away. Lese let out a throaty laugh. Slowly Arfer's tail started to separate back into legs, too slowly for the boy's liking. His gills closed up. 

"Honestly though, it's a coincidence. Don't think too much about it," Lese was watching Arty, more curious than anything. Arfer honest to Gods hated the way Lese looked at him...maybe because he was so used at people looking at him with at least lust or desire. Lese just looked at him like he was a normal person. Which he supposed he was, and Arty always wished people would stop staring at him as if he was delicious food, but somehow it annoyed him that it was Lese  _specifically_ who was looking at him like that. Of course, he could like girls and that's why he didn't react to Arfer, but he never seemed to react to  _anyone_ really, and Arty sometimes found himself wondering what the man's eyes looked like when they were dark with want. 

Arfer wiggled his toes, his face as red as the setting sun, and hurriedly stood up. He wanted to get away from Lese and his obnoxious smirk. 

"Leaving so soon?" the guard teased.

"Shut up," Arfer quickly pulled on his kimono and risked a glance at the other man. Lese had his eyes closed again, almost like he was giving Arty some privacy, and the boy wished he didn't. He kind of wished Lese would look at him sometimes - properly look. Arty scolded himself in his head for such stupid thoughts and then turned on his heel, striding toward the door,

"Goodbye, Arfer!" Lese yelled after him, but Arty ignored him, hurrying his step. Like he said, he hated things that made his heart pound.


	3. The Queen's Lost Child

** **

**-THOMAR-**

The carriage swayed beneath him, and despite the soft pillows he was sitting on and the curtains providing him with secluded privacy, Thomar wanted nothing more than to jump out into the night, and disappear among the trees. They'd never catch him - he'd find a settlement of wild Elves - _his_ people - and nobody would ever know if he was dead or alive. He'd be part of the forest, part of nature. Like he was meant to be...instead he was being transported somewhere far, far away, to be a whore.

Arix Sun-Orah, his father, was an Elf. An elf bard to be precise, and he came to play music at Queen Fareye Carottotay's wedding, sixteen years prior. She fell in love with his music - that's what Arix always told Thomar. The boy doubted it - he was sure his royal mother never loved anything about his father; he was just an accident and Thom himself was a disaster. Gods know why the Queen decided to commit adultery and pull a common singer into her bed, but she did and she became with child. At first her husband, the King, was delighted. He believed that the child was his.

Both the King and the Queen were dark haired and dark eyed, so when the babe was born, pale as milk, with snowy white hair and eyes as blue as a summer day's sky, the King declared him a bastard. Arix fought for Thomar, and eventually he was allowed to take his child to one of the villages and settle down, as long as he did not speak a word of the child's mother to anyone. Thomar grew up not knowing who he was - but in a village full of rough-handed, suspicious men, a young elvish boy with pure white hair didn't go unnoticed. A few days after Thomar's sixteenth birthday, a caped man appeared at the door of his hut.

Up until that point Thomar was sure his father loved him, undoubtedly, limitlessly. And yet he had given his only son away for a sack of coins and a promise of better life, and could Thomar truly blame him? Life was...hard. Most days they went hungry, hence why Thomar's body was all sharp lines and bones pressing against pale skin. The work was sparse, the beggars many. Poverty, sickness, winter...it all made a pretty miserable life. By selling Thomar, Arix could have something better. But Thom still couldn't forgive Arix.

The carriage rattled to a stop and Thomar realised that his chance to escape into the woods was gone. He heard about the White Tower Bathhouse, situated right outside the capital's walls, only for the richest, most prestigious clients. Thomar knew that all of the whores working there - commonly known as Padrilon's Bastards - sons and daughters of well known and respected royals. He assumed that a lot of people liked that, their noble blood - but the idea that someone had the right to touch Thom, to violate him, simply because he was a child of the Queen born out of wedlock, was terrifying.

The carriage door was opened and the sound of the night flooded Thomar's ears. The boy sat, his hands clenched in his lap, listening to the crickets play their mourning tune just outside, the wind rattling through the tree branches like old bones. It was autumn still, the world had been bathed in sunlight, ambers and golds just a few hours ago. But soon enough the world would go grey, and snow would fall, and Thomar would lie in it and nobody would ever notice him at all. 

"Sir," the man at the door had dark skin and light eyes, a peculiar but flattering mixture. Earlier he had introduced himself as Lenmax Gwen'roy, a guard at the Bathhouse. The idea that the White Tower even needed guards was unsettling, "A bed has been prepared for you," Lenmax moved to the side, allowing Thomar to step off the carriage. His legs felt like cotton wool, unstable and shaky, and he had to support himself on the door as he got off.

The White Tower Bathhouse rose up to the sky, higher than the surrounding trees. Made of white brick, it looked breathtaking. Most of the windows were glowing gold with light and steam curled from them to lazily swim up into the stars. The front yard was full of people - guests and whores alike, walking in and out of the open front door, their chatter spilling out onto the grass alongside the light. It made Thomar felt sick; not only was he a slave now, but he also had an audience to witness his shame.

All eyes turned on him the second he stepped into the light, followed by Lenmax like a silent shadow. Thomar's hands were shaking, his head throbbing. He could barely distinguish one face from another as they all blurred into just a crowd of people. Someone pushed through and it took all Thomar had to concentrate on them. 

The man was tall, regal-looking. He had chocolatey skin, close-cropped hair, and dark, intelligent eyes. He was dressed in a pale, velvety shirt, a golden doublet on his chest, presenting a carefully itches white tower against a yellow sky. The man had a cloak fastened to one shoulder, and it was as black as his eyes. By all means he should have been menacing, and evil-looking, as right in front of Thomar stood no other than Amar-Ana Padrilon himself. And yet the man looked at Thomar with warm, kind eyes,

"The White Tower Bathhouse welcomes you," Padrilon boomed, his voice was smooth and almost hypnotising, so Thomar found himself relaxing ever slightly so, "Thomar Sung-Orah, Bastard of Queen Fareye."

Thomar wanted to run. Maybe there was still time? But the people were coming closer, almost like drawn to his peculiar looks, staring with wide eyes, and Lenmax was at his back, and there was nowhere to escape.  

"I am Ana-Amar Padrilon, the owner of this establishment," the man continued, soothing some of Thomar's fear but not helping his nervousness, "May I introduce you my son, Varr Padrilon," a younger man stepped forward. His skin was slightly lighter than his fathers, but he had the same dark, smouldering eyes. He was an inch or two taller that Ana-Amar, and his shoulders were broader, his hair short but curly on top of his head. He seemed to be frowning. If Thomar thought before that Amar-Ana looked majestic and breathtaking, his son was even more so. Thomar found himself at loss of words,

"Hello," Varr said, voice low and raspy. Thomar stared. The silence was uneasy but the boy didn't have the strength to break it. He still desperately wanted to run - no matter how kind these people were to him, they had bought him and were intending on selling his body to make profit, and Thomar could not stomach that. A girl broke past Varr and his father suddenly. Her skin was dark like theirs, but her eyes were golden. She came to Thomar and wrapper her arms around him, kissing his cheek and startling him with the sudden touch. She smelled like lavender and soap.

"My name is Cvernia Merilnyëfu," the girl introduced herself with a calming smile. Thomar wracked his brain for anything his father taught him about nobles and royals...as far as he could remember, Cvernia Merilnyëfu was the bastard daughter Katroe Faylinn Alcalazar, the Countess of Glassport. Her father was a first generation warlock, a man called Thiernan Merilnyëfu, who was hanged for treason soon after his daughter's birth, "Say hello," Cvernia said gently.

"Hello," Thomar repeated faintly. Cvernia's warm hand slid into his, like an anchor, and then she slowly pulled him towards the crowd, as if sensing that he wanted nothing more then to run into the darkness of the trees behind him. 

"Our guest must be tired," Cvernia said as she neared Padrilon. She bowed to him and he inclined his head. Varr seemed to have disappeared somewhere, "It's best to take him up to the rooms."

"Indeed," Padrilon seemed amused. He turned to his guests, who up until this point have been watching the events unfold with interest, "My dear guests! I urge you to remain at the White Tower for the next fortnight, and relax. For this time in fourteen days, an auction will take place."

"What for, Ana?" someone called out, "Pray tell."

"For the Queen's Bastard Virginity!" Padrilon proclaimed, as if just announcing they had won the war all over again. 

*** 

The bed was softer than anything Thomar had slept on before, and bigger too. The room was gorgeous and richly decorated, and Thomar still would have preferred to run out into the unsuspecting night, climb into the gnarled branches of an old tree, and sleep there. But there were thick walls, guards and a contract with his name on it between Thomar and his freedom, and the boy had to deal with it. The only thing that made him relax ever so slightly was the fact that he still had fourteen days before he was shamed and defiled and bought again. Fourteen days to plan his escape.

The rest of the Bastards were asleep...after all, it was late. Thomar was sitting up in his bed, his arms wrapped around his knees, staring at the fire dancing cheerfully in the hearth and listening to the steady breathing of the people around him. Their names and faces blurred together in his pounding head, so Thomar couldn't even remember who's bed he was sleeping next to. He was scared that if he fell asleep he'd wake up with someone hovering above him, pressing a hand over his mouth to stop him from screaming...

It was silent. Thomar felt almost like he was alone. He could see the night outside the windows, dark and undisturbed. It seemed to sing to the elf, calling him outside, into the safety of shadows and trees. Before Thomar even knew what he was doing, he slipped from underneath his blankets, and his bare feet touched the soft, rich carpet on the floor. He shivered. Thom was just in a thin nightshirt and a pair of brown breeches, but there was no time to change. With his heart lodged in his throat like a stone, the boy tiptoed through the room. He took his green travelling cloak off of an armchair strewn with other clothing, picked up his shoes, and slipped through the doors, like in a trance. He almost screamed when the door disappeared into smoke only to form into a solid again once Thom stumbled out in to the corridor.

The short stone steps led down to the third floor, which were full of closed doors and torches in holders, burning on the walls. Thomar passed along windows and stone walls, and then he walked past the bathrooms, with their sliding doors, and extinguished lights. On the ground floor he heard someone laughing and with a small squeak he pressed himself into the shadows of a corner, holding his breath, but then he realised that nobody was coming for him. It was almost too easy. 

The cold air shocked Thomar when he stepped outside. It made him realise that he was  _not_ ready for this spontaneous runaway. And yet the idea of returning upstairs to his prison cell was sickening, so Thomar dashed across the dark courtyard. A small fire was burning close-by, with three guards sitting around it, laughing. Horses whinnied in the stables as Thomar carefully picked his way in the other direction from the guards, facing the fire just in case they turned to look at him. With his breath coming out in panicked little gasps, and his hand trailing along the wall, trying to find an exit in the darkness.

Thom circled the White Tower, feeling like a mouse trying to hide from a cat. He flinched at every noise, every flap of bird wings overhead, every howl of the wolves in the forest. The windows of the bathhouse were dark, only a soft glow coming from the attic, where the Bastards slept and the hearth blazed all night. For a second Thomar wanted to go back to his bed and its warmth because the cold was seeping into him like water and his teeth were clattering. He hated being cold. 

The elf stumbled over a rock and almost fell, biting his tongue in an attempt to stay upright. He tasted the metallic tang of blood in his mouth but he ignored it as he trudged on. Thom's heart plummeted to the ground when he saw that his circle was coming to a close, and that the guards around the fire were coming into vision again. They were guarding the only entrance, and unless Thomar wanted to risk climbing the high walls enclosing White Tower, he'd have no choice but to return to his bed. Helplessness and exhaustion washed over the boy and he slumped against the wall. Was there even a point in running? The chances that he'd get caught or eaten by wild animals was higher than him finding safety. And even if he managed to locate a wild settlement of Elves it didn't mean they'd accept him. Most likely they'd just shun him, like the people in the village.  

Thom's thoughts drifted back to his father. He had been kind and loving to him for his whole life, he told Thomar stories when he was a child, and patched him up when the human boys at school, who considered themselves a 'superior race,' hurt him. And then he had just given Thomar away as if he was worthless to him. It hurt, more than anything else, knowing that the one person Thom thought he could always rely on had betrayed him. 

Thomar tried to blink the tears away from his eyes, and his gaze drifted up to the tower where the other Bastards slept on peacefully. It was a tall tower, tall enough that if Thomar decided to throw himself off, he'd never feel the moment when he'd hit the ground. It was a terrifying thought, but it was the best thing Thomar could come up with. He'd rather die than sell himself like a whore. The boy let out a shaky breath and sniffled, shivering. Gods, it was cold.

"If my father found you, he'd go ballistic," the voice was low, and raspy, and surprisingly calm. It still made Thomar's heart jump in his chest like some scared animal and when he turned around he saw the gorgeous man from before - Varr - leaning against the wall. He didn't look menacing, or like a threat, he was laid back as if he didn't just catch Thomar tried to run away. He was the son of the owner of the brother and yet...

"I-If you touch me I'll scream," Thomar warned shakily. He didn't know what else to say in his defence, he had never been much of a liar. 

"That would work more to your disadvantage than anything," Varr pushed himself off the wall. He towered over Thomar, looking down at him, and for the hundredth time in his life, the Elf felt absolutely useless. He would be unable to fight Varr if anything happened. He never had sex with anyone, never even kissed anybody, but suddenly he thought it would be better to just let Varr have his way with him here, in the courtyard, then sluggishly count down the days until someone bought him for his virtue. 

Thomar swallowed and stumbled back on instinct, the stupid thought evaporating, "If you touch me I-I'll...I'll..."

"You'll what?" Varr's eyes glinted dangerously as he advanced on Thomar.

"I'll...," the boy felt his throat close up, "I'll stab you with a pitchfork!" he yelled suddenly, enlightened. Varr almost smiled,

"Good. That's what you have to tell the guards if they try anything," he said.

"The guards?" Thomar glanced towards the fire nervously.

"They're a bit...wild. Especially Helmchet - you look out for him," he took a step away from Thomar and the boy let out a relieved breath, "and you have nothing to worry about. I have no intention of touching you."

He turned around and Thomar stared at his broad back in disbelief. Was Varr trying to tell him that he was free to go?

"W-Why are you here then?" the boy blurted, desperate for some kind of answer. He felt like he was being tested. Varr hesitated for a moment and then glanced over his shoulder, 

"I'm going into town. To a brothel..."

"You  _live_ in a brothel," Thomar stated. Varr's shoulders tensed,

"Aye, but the Bastards are my friends and I would never think of defiling any of them," he said, almost like Thomar had insulted him. The blonde winced and Varr's defensive stance relaxed ever so slightly, "I...do you care to join me?"

"What?" Thomar asked breathlessly. 

"You may come to town with me, if you'd like," Varr turned back to Thomar. Once again the boy noticed how handsome he was, with his dark eyes and dark hair, "of course we'd have to return here by dawn. I cannot let you leave - my father's orders."

Thomar's shoulders slumped but he couldn't have been expecting anything different. Still, for a second there he had hoped that Varr was different, that he'd allow Thom to take his freedom back. The boy cleared his throat,

"I wish to go with you," he said quietly.

*** 

They walked into town, in a silence that was tense, and yet peculiarly comfortable. It became clear to Thomar that Varr wasn't much of a talker, and the boy was glad for that because he was in a sullen mood and didn't feel like striking up a conversation anyway. Varr took him through a long pathway through the woods, stamped out by years of people coming and going this way. The thought to just dash between the barks crossed the Elf's head a few times, but in the end he decided against it. Maybe because he still had fourteen days to plan his escape, maybe because Varr would most likely catch him and drag him to White Tower, maybe because the son of Padrilon sparked some curiosity in Thomar. 

The first houses started abruptly where the trees cut off, and they were dark and still. But as Thomar and Varr plunged into the maze of cobbled streets, the Elf could hear loud music and laughter drifting from what supposedly was the brothel that he and his companion were heading for. And he was right for after just a mere few moments, they came out onto a broad road with half a dozen buildings alight with torches and fires. Women and men hung from windows and waved at the passerby's - which were surprisingly many - shouting out indecent things that made Thomar's face burn red, something he knew was very unflattering on him. 

Drunk men and women dressed in anything from ragged tatters to big, dramatic clothes circled around like hawks looking for prey, groping at the whores spilling out of the brothels. 

"Hey boys!" one of the whores - a woman in a scarlet dress that matches her hair and lips - waved at them from a doorway, her bust almost spilling from her dress, "Care to come in?" 

Thomar was turning around in circles, unable to keep up with all this colour and chaos and excitement, but Varr plowed right on, ignoring the ridiculous amount of people throwing themselves at him. Some of them weren't even whores, but that wasn't surprising. Varr stood out like a sore thumb among the stinking, tattered bunch on the streets and everybody seemed to be drawn to his good-looks and stern expression. Thomar had the foolish urge to reach out and hold onto the man, because he too was getting peculiar looks and they were making him feel uncomfortable. 

Varr turned so suddenly that Thomar almost fell right into the group of male prostitutes dressed in nothing but sashes around their waists. With a beating heart and regretting all his life decisions, the Elf dashed in after the man into a little brothel at the end of the street called _The Veiled Lady_. The interior was hazy with pale pink smoke which curled up from the pipes of the men sitting around little tables. It was dim inside, and it smelled strongly like incense. A few exotic and skimpily dressed boys and girls were dancing sensually in the light of a few torches, half of their figures hidden in shadows. The atmosphere of the place, and the music drifting from one corner, slow and seductive, made something warm coil inside Thomar's stomach, and he didn't know if he liked it. 

The boy hurried after Varr, who had found a woman dressed from head to toe in black, so only her face was showing. She had a veil over her hair, but her lips were blood red. Varr bowed to her, as if she were royalty, and she inclined her head.

"Master Varr."

"Ormsama," Varr said in his low voice. Somehow in the brothel it seemed even rougher and it sent a surprising thrill through Thomar, "I'll have whoever you care to give."

The Veiled Lady smiled and inclined her head again, "Gais shall do," she said, and melted into the smoke. Varr turned to Thomar and looked at him with eyes that seemed somewhat darker than before, and for a moment Thom couldn't breathe.

"I assume you know what I am about to do."

"Yes," Thomar swallowed past the lump in his throat. Varr was about to take some whore named Gais to a room somewhere and fuck him. 

"Will you be alright?" Varr asked quietly, "If you want to leave we can-"

"It's quite alright," Thomar interrupted in a clipped tone. There was no way in seven hells that he'd tell Varr that he wanted to leave because prostitution made him uncomfortable. He might as well get used to it. Thom stepped away from the man, "I'll wait down here."

For the first time since Thom met him, Varr looked unsure, "Everything is on the house, if you want to-" 

"No." 

Varr nodded awkwardly and opened his mouth, but then Ormsama re-appeared, leading a boy behind her. He was shorter than Varr but taller than Thomar, with caramel skin and long black hair that fell into his fiery eyes. He was smiling sultrily, the flowy trousers he was wearing riding low on his hips. Without a word Varr took him by the wrist and together they disappeared up the hazy staircase. Thomar watched them go with his heart clenched and his throat weirdly dry. 

Suddenly he felt weirdly lost and alone. The music put him in a bit of a trance, the scented smoke made it hard to see or think straight. For a while Thom just watched the dancers, their golden jewellery glinting in the low lights, and tried not to think about what Varr was doing upstairs with that boy. He didn't want to think about it, about the sex going on behind closed doors. The idea that the same thing might happen soon enough to him made him feel disgusted, and yet somehow the aura of the brothel made the thought disperse fast enough. 

A girl appeared suddenly in front of Thom, and he realised with a start that she was an Elf like him. Her skin was like ink, her dark brown hair coiled down to her waist. She wore a material she wrapped around her shoulders, like a dress, but it was so transparent Thomar could see her perky breasts through it. She smiled at him, her blue eyes glinting,

"I am Moet Noan," she said, her words heavily accented. She smelled of herbs and sweat, "Would you like my service?"

Thomar cleared his throat awkwardly, "I...no, thank you," he said dismissively. The girl didn't take the hint, 

"You are from White Tower," her smile widened. Thom felt himself flush,

"I...uh...how did you know?"

"Varr Padrilon," she said confidently, drawing out her 'r's, "He come here often. He fuck good," Thomar flushed even harder at this and Moet threw her head back and laughed, "Aye, you not like him. You like me," her smile looked like a cats.

"Not yet," Thom said uncomfortably.

"Your name?" Moet was clearly enjoying herself.

"Thomar. Thomar Sung-Orah," Thom said quietly.

"Thomar Sung-Orah," Moet said, leaning forward as if telling Thom a secret, "I like you."

The sudden confession made Thom smile despite himself, "I...thank you. I like you too," he said, a bit nervously. He needed a friend right then. Moet laughed again and then took his hand pulling him through the smoke. Gods knows why Thomar followed her but suddenly he found himself upstairs in a wooden corridor, listening to faint moans float from behind doors. Moet pushed a glass with dark green liquid into his hand,

"Drink," she commanded sternly. Her hand was warm, and Thom knew he shouldn't have drank it because it could have been poison, but his night was already so bizarre that he thought  _to seven hells with that_ and downed the drink. It burned down his throat like raw flame, and left his whole body tingling, his face flushing. The boy spluttered at the sickly sweet after-taste and Moet watched him closely, "Butterfly Draught," she said.

"Gods," Thomar made a face. Already he could feel himself getting lighter, his head spinning. He did not have much experience with drinking, but he could tell that the Butterfly Draught wasn't just some juice. Moet smiled,

"I will show you secret."

"I don't think I want to know," Thomar admitted, but of course he wanted to know, so he allowed Moet to pull him down the corridor full of closed doors. The girl came to a stand still in front of the empty wall where the corridor curved around a bend, and pressed her hand around the wood. The solid fell apart and down to the floor into a heap of golden sand, and when Moet pulled a sluggish and confused Thomar through, the door re-arranged itself. It was like back at the White Tower.

The room that Thom and Moet ended up in was no bigger than a closet, and dark as night. Thom could hear Moet giggle as she moved away from him but he himself tried to find his balance as his world spun. 

"Come," Moet said quietly, "Secret." 

She pushed aside a small section of the wood to reveal a peep-hole, and pushed Thomar against it before his muddled brain could catch up with the actions. What Thom saw made his breath catch and his throat go dry, his heart start beating fast and the heat that had gathered up in his stomach so far to trickle down lower, and make him hard. The room was smaller than any of the ones in the White Tower, the tapestries, carpets and bed all red. Lazy smoke curled to the ceiling but Thomar wasn't paying attention to that - instead he was staring at the two figures on the bed. 

Gais was lying against the blankets like he had no bones, his hands curled into the pillows above his head, his back arched. His mouth was open as a litany of moans spilled from it, his legs wrapped around Varr's waist. The second Thomar's eyes focused on Varr, he forgot all about Gais. The man was naked from the waist up, the muscles on his back shifting underneath his sweaty skin with every thrust into Gais. He was silent, his eyes closed as if he didn't want to look at the man in front of him. But Gods, he was mesmerising. Maybe it was the Butterfly Draught or the smoke or  _something,_ but a shaky gasp fell from Thomar's lips as he stared at the man, fucking into Gais. He glimpsed Varr's cock slipping in and out of the whore, and that was almost too much. Thomar pulled away from the peep hole, breathing hard, sure he was as red as the fire coiled inside him. His body felt like it was burning, his breeches uncomfortably tight, his palms sweating. He looked at Moet with big eyes and the girl smiled slowly, and tapped the side of her nose,

"Secret."

*** 

Thomar was so exhausted that when he sneaked back into his room in the White Tower, he fell asleep immediately, and slept peacefully through the rest of the night and most of the morning. He was woken by hushes, anxious voices.

"Gods, what if he's  _dead?"_ a half worried, half excited voice asked. 

"Risja he is  _not_ dead stop being so ridiculous," another voice scoffed.

"He's just tired, leave the kid alone."

"Did he go somewhere last night?"

"What?"

"His cloak's in a different place..."

" _What_?!"

"No it's not, can you calm down?"

"Will you shut up?!"

" _Shhh,_ Hal."

"Actually, someone violated the door spell last night after we were all asleep..."

"Shit, maybe it was Helmchet?"

"Oh Gods no, please don't say that-"

Irritation built up in Thom and he was sure he would not be getting anymore sleep so he opened his eyes and pushed himself up so he was sitting on his bed. All the Bastards were gathered around his bed and most of them flushed in embarrassment when they saw that Thom was awake. He felt like hell had chewed him up and spat him back out, every bone seemed to ache. 

"Oh!" a short, silver-haired girl squeaked and hid behind a pale boy with over-sized ears.

"Good morn, Thomar," the girl from the night before - Cvernia - said softly. Thomar rubbed his head, which was pounding mercilessly, 

"Good morn," he grumbled.

"Did you sleep well?" a boy with curly hair asked excitedly.

"Did you sleep at all?" a very feminine looking boy interjected with a raised eyebrow.

"I second that question," a fiery haired boy was poking around Thom's cloak. The boy flushed and jumped from the bed, pushing the boy roughly away,

"Hey! Don't touch my things," he said, fuming. Everyone stared at him and when Thomar looked down he realised he was still wearing his rumbled shirt and trousers from last night, stained with some mud where he'd stumbled through the forest on the way back, unable to look Varr in the eye. He flushed, remembering last night's events. Varr's sweaty back flashed in his mind.

"Explain?" a pink haired girl asked, amused, arms crossed over his chest. Thomar sighed deeply as the Bastards stared at him curiously. He was never much of a liar. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments and kudos! It really encourages me xx


	4. The Kissing Dolls

** **

**-CHARDWEN-**

So yes, the Queen's Bastard had joined the merry troop of White Tower's Whores, but in Padrilon's words 'there was no need for excitement.' After Hal's prolonged and loud complaining about how his virginity was never auctioned off, the Bastards had to move on with their duties because the baths weren't going to run themselves. Chardwen quite enjoyed this aspect of the work. He liked preparing the bath rooms for the guests, pouring scented water into the big baths embedded in the floor, relaxing as vapour rose from the liquid. He liked listening to the conversations of the royals, running around, doing errands. Dwen could never stay still for long or he'd get bored.

What he didn't like were the things that usually came after the baths. He didn't outright  _hate_ the sex, because once every couple of weeks a royal would appear that was good at what they were doing, and it could get quite pleasant. But that was rare since Dwen's forte was mostly very vanilla, the people he got were the ones who usually wanted to either have a quick fuck before going to sleep, experiment or lose their virginity. He also sometimes got men who swore they preferred girls, and yet they still went with Dwen. They were the most fun. Dwen wasn't exactly the most girly-looking boy (that would be Halisen) - sure, he had curly hair and stupidly long eyelashes, but that was about it. He was by far the most muscular of all the Bastards, and the tallest too, so he found it incredibly amusing when such men swore they 'only liked women' and still chose to sleep with him. Dwen also got the most female clients, though those were rare as they much preferred to just come to White Tower to enjoy the baths, or go with the other girls. 

The day after Thomar arrived, Dwen ignored Leo's and Hal's gossiping sessions (which happened everywhere from the kitchen where they ate their meals to corners of the bath rooms, with  _clients_ present), and just got on with his work. His first client was a fat baron in a red doublet who was drunk despite the early hour. He spent  _ages_ in the bath, and barely spared Dwen a second glance during. The boy amused himself by running through the steam filled corridors in-between the bath rooms, carrying towels, bathrobes, incense and food. When the Red Baron was done with his bath, he and his massive belly abandoned Dwen completely to go find the mess hall. The next clients were an elderly couple with saggy, papery skin, who also only wanted to take a bath, though the Lady kept glancing at Chardwen in a suggestive way. When they were gone the boy took the chance to rest, dragging himself upstairs for a quick nap. 

He was woken by Risja jumping on him, her auburn hair tickling his cheeks,

"You're not paid to sleep!" she bellowed in his ear, dissolving into giggles right after. Dwen rolled his eyes against the pillow,

"I'm not paid at all," he grumbled but let Risja fix his hair and drag him back downstairs, where the two of them took care of a group of over-excited princes, clearly at a bath house (and a brothel) for the first time. After their bath a heavily intoxicated prince who's name Dwen forgot (he had a tendency to do that) took him to a room, while his friend took Risja. The sex was un-coordinated, slightly painful, and thankfully short because the prince came within seconds of pushing into Dwen. Afterwards the curly haired boy met Risja again, who had a similar experience with the other prince, and they went down to luncheon together. 

The kitchen was a large, stone room with a stove in one corner, large and happily crackling with a fire. The walls were lined with shelves and cupboards, stacked full of everything; jars of jam, pickles, Eliaa flowers. Eggs, flour, meat, chocolate, herbs, spices, milk, wine, juice, anything and everything the Bastards could desire. They could make specific orders at the end of each week for the week to come - like how Dwen ordered coconut ice for this week - and it would be brought to them. 

"...and I am  _telling_ you!" Hal said dramatically, gesturing with his fork as Arfer and Cvernia watched him from across the table, amused, "This man was so old I thought he was going to have a heart attack during!"

Leophinia snorted into her chocolate pudding, "That's hilarious. I would have killed to see that happen."

"Could the killing be done on the man who was fucking me?" Halisen asked, rolling his eyes, "His dick was like a prune. No a  _raisin,_ " he shuddered. Risja sat down next to him,

"What's this?" she asked, a grin already on her lips. Hal put an arm around her shoulders and she interlocked their fingers together. The Bastards really didn't understand the concept of personal space. Hal started to tell Risja about the 'horrifying' sex he just had, but Dwen lost interest when he saw Thomar standing in the corner of the kitchen awkwardly, turning an apple in his pale hands. He looked like he was permanently rolled in snow with his white hair and pale skin - damn, even his eyelashes were white. Still, Chardwen supposed he was really pretty, and kind of cute. He looked really scared, confused and lonely.

Chardwen remembered when as a child he had been brought into the White Tower for the first time. He was maybe two, and his father - Yadai Philostiphos , Lord of Chase Castle - had died from the Magnolia Fever the night before. He had been kind to Dwen, who he had taken on as his cup-bearer to keep him off the streets. But after his death Padrilon came and five year old Dwen was taken to the bath house. To his credit he had Arfer and Will with him, and they all could stick together. Leophinia and Cvernia had already been at the Tower for some months, and they took the boys under their wings. When the rest of the Bastards showed up in the following year, Hal and Risja and Danny, they already had a family waiting for them. All eight of them had grown up together, were practically siblings. And Thomar was new to this, and old enough to know what his fate was. He wasn't eased gently into the fact he'd be a whore - he was thrown head first into the deep end, and Dwen hated that. 

He came to stand next to the pale boy, and smiled as reassuringly as he could,

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," Thomar said, nervously and quietly.

"Is the apple all you're going to eat?" Chardwen raised an eyebrow. Thomar shrugged awkwardly,

"I couldn't find anything else," he admitted, a pretty blush appearing on his cheeks. Dwen fought the urge to ruffle his hair,

"What do you want to eat? We have practically everything," he said.

Thomar shrugged and looked to the side, "Um...anything's fine really."

"Vern!" Chardwen called when he saw the girl start cooking something in the stone stove, "What are you making?"

"Pigeon pastries," Vern said, "Why? Want some?"

"Yes please, and make some for Thomar here too."

Cvernia nodded and Dwen turned back to the pale boy, who was redder in the face now, "Thank you," he said and his eyes shifted around the room. Halisen was still telling his intriguing story, waving around, "I...you can call me Thom, if you'd like."

"I'm Chardwen, but Dwen's fine," the curly haired boy introduced himself in turn. He liked that Thom was opening up to him, if even just a little bit, "Hey," he said softly, "I know you're scared. Hell, I'd be terrified if I was you," Dwen's shoulders slumped when he remembered his first time. They hadn't outright told them what would happen, so when Dwen was pushed into the room, well...he didn't know what to expect. The man had been hairy, old, and smelly. He didn't care about making Dwen feel good - none of them ever did - just to get his own pleasure. Chardwen had cried during and bled after, and he had just been fifteen. Arfer had kicked the man he was sleeping with in the face, and Will had screamed, at least at first. It was better now - Chardwen knew what to expect, "but you get used to it. And we're here for you, all of us," he said, and Thom watched him with big, blue eyes, "and we're a family. You're part of the family now, too. And trust me, it's not that bad."

Thomar was quiet for a moment and then he nodded, almost to himself,

"Right," he said, quietly, and cleared his throat, "Thank you."

"Come sit down with us," Chardwen offered. Thomar nodded again and then followed behind Dwen, like a shadow. When Dwen sat down next to Leo, she laid her head on his shoulder and then kissed it.

"Hi, Dwen," she mumbled, "I'm tired."

"Me too," Chardwen admitted, kissing the top of her pink hair. He wanted nothing more then to go to sleep - to wrap himself up into a cocoon of blankets and pass out. He had no idea how Arfer got by with practically no sleep. Just then the door to the kitchen burst open and none else than Lese Docnyae burst in. Dwen adored the man - he was hilarious and a devilish card player. If it wasn't for the fact that Arfer had some kind of grudge against him, he would have been the most liked guard at the Tower. However because of Arfer, Lenmax took that spot, because he was kind to virtually everyone and snuck them alcohol back in the day where the Tower wasn't as rich as it was now.

"How many times do I have to tell you fools that you can't all eat at the same time?!" the man yelled in exasperation. Leophinia snickered and he glared at her. Unlike Helmchet, nobody was afraid of Lese. He was fierce and strong, but he'd never lift a hand against any of the Bastards, "Don't laugh, pinky! You still owe me two silvers for last month!" the smile fell off Leo's lips and Lese turned to the rest, "Seriously, Danny and Will are upstairs running around and trying to work all of the floors! You guys should be ashamed of yourselves!"

"Sorry, Lese," Leo, Dwen and Risja said in unison, like good children. Lese sighed and shook his head, 

"Someone better volunteer to go help them."

Arfer stood up abruptly. He looked angry, "I'll go," he practically  _growled._ Dwen blinked in surprise - he knew that Arty didn't like Lese for some reason, but he never saw the guy look so...angry before. It was almost like his dislike for the guard had built up for the last few weeks, but Dwen had no idea why. Lese only smiled at the little outburst, and his smile was all weird and...Dwen glanced between the two, his mind slowly shifting the puzzle pieces in his mind. 

"So determined to get away from me, big-ears?" Lese teased, the way he did to everyone. He called Dwen 'Pouty,' Wilawil 'Flame-boy' and commonly referred to Danny as 'oi kid!' Still, at his remark, Arfer blushed furiously. 

"I  _told_ you not to call me that!" he hissed, even the tips of his oversized ears burning. The Bastards watched this interaction with bated breath, like a jousting tournament, and Arfer just shoved roughly past Lese to disappear up the stairs. The guard shook his head,

"I don't know what his problem is."

"You like him," Dwen said suddenly. Lese looked at him and shifted nervously,

"Of course. I like all of you."

"What Dwen means," Leo had a predatory grin on her face, "Is that you  _fancy_ Arfer."

An excited sound echoed around the table and Chardwen was pleased to see that even Thomar smiled. Lese actually  _blushed,_ something that was unheard of. 

"I-I don't fancy him," he spluttered, "Don't be ridiculous! He's a fool, and he's rude and insolent, he acts like a child and...and...," he stared at the Bastards, who were all grinning at him, "and he has stupid ears!" he finished lamely, "and he's a  _prostitute._ "

A shot of shame and anger rushed through Chardwen and the good mood he was in left him in a gust. His heart clenched and he looked away. Lese's expression crumbled when he realised what he just said. The Bastards dropped their gazes, their cheeks flushing. Chardwen didn't like to think about what Lese just reminded him about - that nobody would ever be able to really, properly love him. They might desire him, lust after him, but nobody would ever want to be with a whore. The other Bastards knew that too, it was clear by the pain in their eyes. They could pretend as much as they wanted that friendship was enough for them, but in the end they all wanted someone to care for them in a way that they could never care for each other. 

"I'm sorry," Lese murmured, and cleared his throat, his hand rubbing his bearded jaw awkwardly, "I didn't mean it-"

"There are clients to serve," Vern said tightly, standing up, her expression neutral. Her hands were shaking, though. 

*** 

Chardwen saw his fiery ginger hair halfway down the empty, steamy corridor, and a smile grew on his face. 

"Wilawil!" he called, and frowned when the boy didn't respond. Dwen hurried up his step, "Will!" he called again. Too late he realised that the boy wasn't really a boy, but a man. Taller than Will, and broader, dressed in an expensive green shirt that was spilling sloppily from his breeches. The man's hair was a shade darker than Will's, and sticking up as if he didn't bother to comb it in the morning. When Dwen slapped his hand on the man's shoulder and he turned around, that's when he realised, "You're not Will," he blurted stupidly. The man had a sullen, annoyed expression on his face, and unlike Will's warm brown eyes this man's were black and angry, his jaw covered with a one day stubble. He looked like an expensive mess.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" the royal spat, roughly knocking Chardwen's hand off of his shoulder as if it had the Magnolia Fever. The boy stared at him, horrified, and then bowed hurriedly,

"My Lord I beg your pardon-"

"Disgusting."

Dwen straightened up, " _Excuse me_?" the guests were allowed much at the White Tower, but insulting its worker was not one of them. The man who was not Will crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Chardwen with challenge in his dark eyes. 

"You heard me," he said insolently, "You're one of them, aren't you? A Bastard."

"I don't appreciate your tone, sir," Dwen seethed. His anger was always straightforward. His friends said it was a bit like a match - intense, but short-lived. Hal always threw shade and made two-faced remarks, Leophinia punched people in the face and Arfer tended to just yell at people. Dwen just got angry, fast and over quickly, "You're being very rude-"

"I'm sorry did I insult you?" the man asked sarcastically. Chardwen's hands clenched into fists as he felt his face heat up, "Before you offer me anything let's just make one thing clear - I like women. With breasts and other lady parts. So whatever you want to try and bribe with me to make sure I don't mention your little assault to your boss, it won't work."

"You're mistaken, sir," Chardwen growled, "Because if my boss hears about this, you will be out in the mud on the courtyard!"

The man stepped close to Dwen, so suddenly the boy stumbled back into the wall. The man smelled of grass and something musky and his sudden advance made the boy's stomach twist.

"You presume too much, whore," he hissed and Dwen's heart skipped a beat. He wondered how much trouble he'd be in if he hit the man, "I am Adrael Charheredan."

The anger deflated out of Chardwen in an instant and he slumped against the wall as dread slipped into the spaces where his fury had been seconds ago. He distinctly remembered Varr telling them a week prior about an important delegation from Thyar Bryary - about two princes and two princesses coming to the White Tower. Varr specified that they must be treated with respect and care because they were important in a political conflict. And now none other then the Heir to Thyar Bryary himself was standing in front of Dwen, and he had already managed to anger him.

"I-" he started, his throat dry with fear. Adrael stepped back, his dark eyes flashing,

"Save it whore," he growled, and then strode off down the corridor as if Dwen wasn't worth his time. For a long time the boy just stood there, pressed against the wall, wondering how painful Padrilon would make his death after he found out how he treated the heir to Bryary, at the same time internally battling his embarrassment, anger and annoyance. The real Will came down the corridor a few moments later, his shirt open revealing the dried beeswax that someone had spilled on his abs. He looked quite happy but stopped when he saw Dwen,

"You alright there?" he asked, cocking his head to the side.

"I hate you and your stupid hair," Chardwen groaned.

***

Chardwen made sure he wouldn't run into Adrael again, avoiding him to the point that he dashed into random rooms whenever he so much as glimpsed ginger hair. It became so intense that Will asked Dwen if he was angry him. Dwen was scared he'd have to be like that for the next fortnight since that's how long the Thyar Bryary delegation would be staying at White Tower. However, Leophinia took his mind off it when a day and a half after Chardwen ran into Adrael she dragged him up to the dorm room when he was busy re-stocking the towels in one of the cupboards in the store room on the second floor. The dorm was empty except for Thomar, sitting nervously on his bed.

"We need to help Thomar," Leo declared after the smoky door took solid form behind her again. Thomar was biting his lip and awkwardly playing with the frayed sleeves of some old jumper he was wearing.

"If it has anything to do with running away, then you  _know_ I can't Leo!" Dwen threw his hands up in surrender, "I'm still on Padrilon's black list for that one time with Lenmax-"

"Let's not talk about that," Leo said, wincing, "But no, it's not that," she went and sat down next to Thom, "The problem is - Thom is a virgin."

"That's the opposite of a problem," Chardwen pointed out, "I'd be worried if he wasn't. They'd have nothing to auction off."

"It's just that," Thom finally spoke out, "I don't...know what to do...," he trailed off, face burning red. Dwen had to suppress the 'awww' building in his throat.

"That's where we come in," Leo said, "I thought we could teach him the basics, and maybe have Will tell him about all the ropes and stuff, just to ease him in a bit more gently."

"Got you," Dwen nodded, and he sat down next to Leo. Physical contact wasn't a big deal for any of the Bastards - they were past that. They touched a lot, kissed on occasions (platonically) but sometimes Arfer told Dwen about how Leo snuck into Cvernia's bed some nights and the boy couldn't help but see that there was something going on between the two girls. But that was besides the point. 

"Let's start with kissing," Leo offered, and Thom nodded hesitantly, "Have you ever kissed anybody?"

"No."

"Dammit," Leo sighed, "Alright - no worries. Sometimes a client might not wish to kiss, they'd rather just get right to it, they feel that kissing makes an emotional connection between them and us - it doesn't. But if they do want to kiss...here, let me and Dwen show you." She took Chardwen's face in her warm hands, "you must let the client take the lead, and they will make it clear if they wish for the kiss to be chaste or-"

"What if I read it wrong?" Thomar blurted, "What if I make a mistake?"

"Everybody makes mistakes," Dwen shrugged, "it will happen - but nobody will be angry about it. You just move past it. So you must start with a kiss that's soft, but lingering, an invitation for the client to pick whether they want to continue or move on," Leophinia tugged Dwen forward, and their lips met. It felt almost like a hug - there were no romantic or sexual feelings attached to it - it felt to Dwen like he was a doll, kissing another doll, their lips made of porcelain, but when they pulled away Thomar was still looking away like he saw something indecent, his face glowing red. Dwen grinned and Leophinia snorted,

"This only makes sense if you  _look_ ," she said patiently. Thom risked a glance at the two of them and then hastily looked away again.

"I-I can't j-just look while you two...," he trailed off, embarrassed. It was refreshing to see someone in the Tower who was still uncomfortable and shy about the idea of sex. Innocent - that was the word. 

"Right, perhaps we shall return to this when you're more...," Leo looked for the right word.

"Comfortable," Chardwen offered.

"Comfortable," Leophinia agreed, "with sex."

"I don't think that will ever happen," Thomar sighed. Leo gave him a fond look and ruffled his hair, which reminded Dwen of his encounter the night before. He groaned at the memory and Leo gave him a confused look,

"I forgot to tell you," Dwen bit his lip, "Last night I had an interesting run in...with someone."

Leophinia's eyes widened, "Please don't tell me it was the heir to Thyar Bryary," she whispered faintly. Chardwen blinked at her as Thom looked between them, baffled,

"How did you know?" Chardwen asked.

"Because he  _told_ me!" Leophinia sighed, "This morning I was in charge of that delegations baths and he told me about the insolent boy he ran into..."

"Gods," Dwen groaned again.

"Dwen you're in so much trouble! That was the one person you were not supposed to _anger._ I expected this from _myself_! Maybe from Arfer, definitely from Hal, but not from _you_ ," she sighed, "You will have to fix it before he goes to Padrilon."

"You think he hasn't gone yet?" Dwen asked hopefully.

"You're still alive aren't you?"

Dwen blinked at Leo, "Wait - did you sleep with him?"

She shrugged, "Aye."

"Were you dressed-up?" Chardwen asked. Part of Leo's speciality was to be dominant, and in order to do that she often wore male clothing. Most of her clients were women, or men who wanted to be submissive. 

"Nay," Leo wrinkled her nose, "he said that he 'only likes women,'" she rolled her eyes, "I think he's trying to make a point of it since he had only been here a day and already he slept with me and Risja. I'm sure he's hunting for Vern next, though I heard him tell one of his friends that Danfrea is too young for him so he won't touch her."

"How old is he?" Thomar piped up. Leophinia shrugged,

"Twenty, maybe twenty one, who knows," she said, then gave Dwen a curious look, "Why are you so interested in him anyway?"

"I'm not," Dwen muttered, "it's only that he is rude, and insolent, and I need all the information I can get to try and smooth things over with him before he costs me my job."

"Surely he cannot be  _that_ important," Thomar said. 

"Oh trust me," Leo stood up, "He's important. Thyar Bryary was neutral during the War of the Tree, despite the fact that most of their population is human. Don't you know what's happening in the capital?" she asked, and Thom and Dwen both shook their heads, "Gods, you're clueless! The Nurturers are attempting to overrule the Freedom Decree, and abolish slavery."

"But I thought there weren't any important Nurturers left," Thom frowned. He himself was technically part of the Nurturers, or the 'lower' class. Any Elves, Nymphs, Dryads, Witches or Sprites who were against the mass cutting of trees in Wynao, were considered to be Nurturers. 

"Over the last few years many Nurturers got back to their feet," Leo shrugged, "Like the Baroness of Ayrethwaithe, Arfer's mother. And not only that - many Humans and Shapeshifters are fighting against the Decree now too, they say its inhumane - Thyar Bryary is inclining towards backing the Nurturers, and that's why they are important."

"How do you know all this?" Dwen frowned.

"I go into town, don't I?" Leo brushed him off, "now we are going off topic - Dwen you need to make sure that the heir of Bryary doesn't want to kill you anymore, and Thomar you better get accustomed to the life being led here."

Risja walked into the room, stretching her arms over her head and yawning. Her red hair was messy and it was clear she just finished pleasuring a client. She walked right over to the score board and changed three hundred and fifteen into three hundred and sixteen. 

"You look happy," Chardwen remarked as he stood up, trying to think of how in seven hells he was going to make everything alright with that ginger bastard. Risja shrugged,

"I got a good client," she winked at Dwen, "Adrael Charheredan - you'd like him."


	5. The Killingard

**-LESE-**

When he saw Arfer out on the roof in the middle of the night, Lese should have probably gone back inside and left the boy be. He seemed to constantly find himself in the same place as Arty, and he didn't want the boy to think that Lese  _liked_ him or anything like that. The man still felt himself blush when he remembered the Bastards teasing him about it earlier. And then that thing he said... _and he's a prostitute._ Lese couldn't believe those words left his mouth at a table of...well...prostitutes! He saw all their crestfallen expressions and that was enough to make him feel guilty and sick. Besides, its not like he actually minded that Arfer was a whore. It wasn't ideal but if the boy were to suddenly confess his undying love to Lese, the man wouldn't turn him down because of it. A voice at the back of Lese's head that made him uncomfortable whispered that he wouldn't turn Arfer down at all, and he was afraid that that was true.

And now here he was, on his way to take a midnight bath because he couldn't sleep. However the roof was already occupied by Arfer, who wasn't (surprisingly) in the dome, sitting in the bath. Instead he was on the battlements of the roof, perched right on the edge of the stone wall enclosing the dome as if he wasn't scared to fall. There was a pipe in his hand, and the boy was puffing away at it, while gloomily looking out into the dark forest spread out before him. 

"Who did you steal that from, big-ears?" Lese said as an opening statement, coming up behind the boy and ignoring his weirdly pounding heart. Three things happened at once, lightning fast - Arfer flinched so violently that the pipe went flying from his hand. In an attempt to catch it, the boy reached out into thin air, leaning forward. He would have slipped right off the battlements and down to his death if Lese hadn't been faster. He wrapped an arm around Arfer's waist in a split second as his instincts kicked in and hauled the boy backwards into his chest before he could slide off. Arfer inhaled a startled gasp and Lese just clung onto him for a second, terrified. His heart pounded and he could feel Arfer's own heart against his arm, matching his frantic beat. 

The two men just stayed like that for a second, calming down their sudden panic. Arfer was trembling and his steely cold voice finally broke Lese out of his state, in which he was imagining Arfer's body impaled on a tree somewhere far below. The wind stirred Arfer's feathery hair so it brushed against Lese's hair, and the boy gritted out,

"Get off."

Lese hurriedly pulled back from Arfer and the boy shakily got off the battlements. He looked at Lese for a second, his eyes dark and confused, and then his look turned into a glare as he whirled around to peer down at the forest,

"My goddamn  _pipe_ ," he said mournfully. Lese rolled his eyes

"Aye, worry about the pipe when it could have been you," he crossed his arms defensively over his chest, "What were you doing up there anyway?"

"None of your business," Arfer snapped. Lese couldn't help but notice the way he looked - his hair was mused, clearly by more than just the wind, and it went wavy the way it only did after it got damp. The boy's cheeks were still ever so slightly flushed, his see-through shirt crumpled, his lips swollen. He had clearly just had sex, and it sent an uncomfortable pang through Lese. The man shouldn't have cared if Arfer had just been fucked, and yet he did. The thought made him unexplainably annoyed. 

"Risja told me what you said today after I left," Arfer said, almost like he didn't mean to, but he sounded angry. In all honesty, he always sounded angry when he talked to Lese.

"I...," Lese tried desperately to find an excuse, "I didn't mean it."

Arfer raised an eyebrow, "So you  _do_ like me?" he asked sceptically. Lese clenched his hands into fists,

"Of course I don't!" he spluttered quickly, "But it's not because you're a prostitute!" his shoulders slumped. He hated that word, "I...the only reason I said that-"

Arfer stuck his hand up, silencing Lese, "You know what I just realised that I don't care."

"Then why ask?" Lese asked. He was annoyed that Arfer always managed to rile him up, "clearly it bothers you, big ears."

It was worth it to see Arfer's cheeks flush. Gods, it would be so much easier to fight with him if he wasn't so damn stunning. And his ears were adorable (not that Lese would ever tell him that)

"I told you to stop calling me that!" the boy yelled as his anger grew.

Lese couldn't take it. He knew if he stayed on the roof even a moment longer he'd do something foolish - like push Arfer against the battlement and kiss him, something he  _knew_ wasn't allowed. Lese didn't know where all these new feelings were coming from, and why he was suddenly seeing Arfer in a new light where he wasn't just some annoying little kid anymore, but someone that Lese wanted to kiss, to hold...but the guards weren't allowed to even  _touch_ the Bastards, and Lese wasn't about to risk his job for some stupid boy who was equally endearing and infuriating. 

"Stop being such a child," Lese fired back lamely, "I was going to take a bath but you put me off. Goodnight, big ears."

Before Arfer could reply, Lese turned around and walked off the roof and hurried to his room. He desperately needed a cold, cold bath but no way in seven hells was he going back to face Arfer, because he knew seeing the boy again would just make everything harder.

*** 

Lese was pacing up and down the battlements, a crossbow in hand. Down below he could see the unsteady flicker of the fire, and the two shadows of Lenmax and Helmchet as they stood guard near the main entrance. Earlier, reports had come in that an anti-Nurturers extremist group who wanted to exterminate the lower classes once and for all was spotted near the White Tower. 

Lese was a Shapeshifter, a higher rank, and by all means he shouldn't have cared what happens to the ones below him. But Lese wasn't like his father or his grandfather, he wasn't so busy being proud of his superiority to not bother and open his eyes to the world around him. Elves, nymphs, mermen, they were all being treated cruelly and unfairly under the Freedom Decree, and Lese wasn't afraid to say that he was with the Nurturers. Seeing the Bastards everyday and knowing that most of them were from the lower classes made Lese determined to make them free. Especially Arfer. Gods, Lese would hate to see him starving out on the streets after he grew too old to be a Bastard. The fact that the boy would never be able to get a decent job simply because he was a merman made Lese's blood boil. What he would do to change the law.

And now this extremist group - the Killingard - was threatening what little progress had been made since the War of the Trees, trying to destroy the Nurturers, this time for real. Lese wouldn't allow that to happen. He ignored the cold wind nipping at his exposed face and fingertips, keeping his gloved hands firmly on the crossbow, and his eyes trained on the shadows pooling right outside the walls of the White Tower. Past the forest enclosing the bathhouse he could see the glow from Syra's Well, the little town most known for its main street, lined with cheap brothels. 

The only movement Lese could see were the branches rustling in the autumn wind, and the drunk guests occasionally coming out into the yard. Somewhere below him, Lese knew the Bastards were at the peak of their night. Most of the customers chose this time, near midnight, to take them to bed. A foolish thought slipped into Lese's head - Arfer was somewhere, maybe just a floor below him, getting fucked by a stranger. The guard's hands tightened on his crossbow without his consent and he quickly scolded himself,  _It's his job...besides, why should I care what he does?_

A flicker of movement caught Lese's eye and he tensed, all thoughts of Arfer thankfully leaving his head for the minute. Someone was standing outside the walls, a figure ever so slightly darker than its surroundings. Lese narrowed his eyes and pointed his crossbow, but from that high up he had no way of knowing if the newcomer was a lost client, a wandering villager or a member of the Killingard, wanting to murder the Nurturers working at the White Tower. After a second of the figure not leaving, Lese put his fingers to his mouth and whistled out a low warning. The figure outside didn't move, but below Helmchet and Lenmax jumped to their feet, their swords casting long shadows on the walls. Without hesitating, the two made for the gates and out onto the perimeter where the sillhouete had been standing. 

Lese frowned. For the seconds it took him to see the other two guards rush to the newfound threat, the person had disappeared. Lese frowned and scanned the courtyard, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw a cloaked figure slipping past the unguarded gate. It was his second nature - Lese dropped the crossbow and inhaled a lung-full of cold, fresh air. He had done it a hundred times before, and as he exhaled slowly, his body changed. 

It felt like someone was running a match ever so gently over his skin - not enough to burn, but enough to warm him up and make his hair stand on end. Lese's world threatened to tip over as he morphed into the body of a raven, but the man had enough practice to keep himself steady. He wasted no time as he took to the air, his wings beating powerfully against the wind where his arms had once been. The world was strung out in front of him, vast and seemingly never-ending. Lese swooped down, the air tugging at his black feathers, and he spotted the figure, dashing across the courtyard. 

As Lese landed in front of it, his body changed back to the one of a man, and the second his boots touched the courtyard, he drew his sword. The cloaked figure halted abruptly, the hood falling back, and Lese realised it was a woman. Or a girl really - tall and willowy. She looked innocent enough - black hair tumbling from her cloak, big, sea-coloured eyes sparkling with curiosity, a dusting of freckles across her ruddy cheeks. It didn't throw Lese off, or make him relax his stance as he pressed the tip of the sword against the girl's pale throat. She was dressed in rags, her tattered cloak patched half a dozen times, so she couldn't have been a client. 

"Who are you, intruder?" Lese demanded. He felt very protective over the White Tower and the people inside, and he wouldn't allow them to be harmed because of an innocent looking little girl. She smiled at Lese, as if not feeling the blade at her throat, so the guard reminded her about it by pressing it harder against her skin. He didn't want to hurt her - she was just a child - but he wouldn't heistate to kill her if he had to. If it meant protecting Arty. 

"My name is Auri," the girl introduced herself, and curtsied, so that Lese's blade slipped from her throat, "I am here to deliver a message."

"A message from who?" Lese lowered his weapon, but stayed in his defensive stance. 

"You might have heard of us - the Killingard," she said almost in a friendly way. Lese felt his stomach clench as he went to kick the legs from underneath the girl. His heart pounded frantically as she gracefully skipped away from him, "So you  _have_ heard of us!" she seemed delighted. Lese glared at her and raised his weapon again, but she just smiled, "Please do not kill the messenger, I am just here to forewarn you."

"About what?!" Lese spat as he raised his weapon again, "Tell me or I swear on the Gods I will end your pathetic life."

Auri pulled her hood back up, slowly, languidly, as if she wasn't scared.  _She isn't,_ Lese realised with a hollow feeling in his chest. 

"The message from the Killingard," the girl cleared her throat as if preparing for a speech and then her grin turned malicious, "We're coming for the Bastards."

Lese swung at her with his sword, fear blooming in his chest. He would not allow his family to be harmed. Before the blade could even touch Auri, she jumped and in mid-air her body turned into a firefly. Startled, Lese stumbled back. He had expected the Killingard to be humans, but if they had Shapeshifters...Lese swallowed past the lump in his throat as he watched Auri rise into the air, just a smudge of light. 

Lenmax and Helmchet came sprinting into the courtyard, kicking up dust,

"Lese!" Helmchet growled, advancing on the younger guard, "What the hell did you raise an alarm for?! There was nobody outside-"

"We need to see Padrilon," Lese said tightly, " _Now._ "

 ***

"...therefore it will be for the best if you all remain inside the walls of the Tower until the threat has passed," Padrilon finished. The Bastards were standing in front of him in the kitchen, in different states of dress or undress, practically pulled from the beds of clients. 

"So we won't be able to go to town?" Leo pouted.

"What about stay inside the walls do you  _not_ understand?" Halisen snapped, arms crossed over his skinny chest. Lese was standing in the back with the other guards, but his gaze was fixated on Arfer. The boy was sitting on the counter, his feet and chest bare. The only thing he was wearing were some flowing pants, which meant miles of his pale skin were on show, for anyone to see. Lese wanted to go up to him and wrap him up in his cloak, to shield him from Helmchet, who was watching him hungrily out of the corner of his eye. But Lese knew that Arty would most likely punch him in the face and set his cloak on fire, or take his pants off too just to annoy the guard more. He was just like that, and no matter how much Lese liked to pretend that they were friends, it was clear that Arfer disliked him. Lese didn't know why - as children they had grown up together at the Tower, and they had been friends. It all changed when Arty actually became a prostitute, and Lese wished it hadn't. 

He loved the other bastards, of course he did, and he loved Padrilon and Varr and Lenmax - they were his family. But with Arfer it was different...Lese had seen him grow from the chubby little boy who'd trip over nothing and constantly cry and hit Lese if he annoyed him, to who he was now...it was hard for Lese to come to terms with it. Two years ago he had left for some months because Padrilon caught a whiff of rumours about the Queen's Bastard, who turned out to be Thomar. When he returned he found Arty changed, and he still couldn't get his mind around it. 

"We will have each of the guard assigned to three of you," Padrilon's voice broke Lese out of his thoughts and he quickly looked away from Arfer before the boy caught him staring, "for more protection one of them will sleep in the dorm room with you. If you see anybody suspicious around the tower you must tell them immediately-"

"Yes, yes, we know," Hal rolled his eyes. Vern elbowed him,

"This is for our safety," she hissed at him, "Behave Halisen."

Padrilon ignored Halisen's bad mood and continued, "Cvernia, Wilawil and Thomar, you will be with Lenmax," he said in his deep voice, and nobody dared interrupt. Lese threw a glance at Arfer, desperate to be with him all of a sudden, "Halisen, Chardwen and Danfrea you are with Lese," the guard's shoulders sagged and when he threw another glance at Arty he was startled to see the boy looking at him - with big, pleading eyes. As soon as their gazes met, Arfer glared hurriedly and then looked away, "which leaves the remaining - Leophnia, Risja and Arfer - to be with Helmchet."

Leo and Risja exchanged sour looks, but nobody paid them anymore mind because Padrilon dismissed them, "No more work tonight!" he announced, "Everybody off to bed right now - Lenmax and Lese, you remain guarding the outside, Helmchet you go to the dorm."

They all bowed and shuffled out. Lese sighed - everything was so messy. His feelings were confusing and annoying him, and Arfer wasn't helping with his constant negativity towards Lese. The man just wished he could talk to Arty without the boy throwing a hissy fit about it. He gave Arfer one last lingering look and then split from the Bastards, following Lenmax outside. It had grown colder in the time it took for Padrilon to deliver the news about the Killingard to the Bastards, and Lese sat hunched close to the fire for warmth as Lenmax took to patrolling from air in the form of a bat. 

The cold was numbing and after a while Lese stopped thinking, and just stared at the flames, his sword close at hand. He had a feeling the Killingard wouldn't attack the same night they warned the Tower that they were coming for them.  _Why did they even warn us in the first place? Surely a surprise attack would make more sense..._ These thoughts went round and round in Lese's head until they stopped making sense. Why would the Killingard give them time to prepare themselves for an attack?

"I thought you'd be up on the battlements," Arfer startled Lese, as always. The boy had put on a shirt, but not bothered with anything else and now he looked cold as he hugged himself, standing behind Lese.

"You're not supposed to leave the dorm room, idiot," the man said. Arty shrugged,

"I wanted to talk to Max," he said quietly. 

"Why?" Lese asked.

The familiar glare returned to Arfer's face, "That's none of your business," he snapped. Lese turned back to the flames and fought a frustrated sigh - he was not in the mood to bicker with Arfer (for once), 

" _He's_ up on the battlements," the Guard stated, poking at the fire with a stick, "But unless you're the bat whisperer I doubt you'll get a lot of talking done."

For a moment it was so quiet that Lese thought Arty might've gone back inside, but then the boy came and sat down on he little bench by the fire, as far away from Lese as possible. The guard blinked at him, surprised. He couldn't think of a reason why Arfer would bother even breathing the same air as him, so he watched curiously as the boy stuck his hands out closer to the flames to warm them. There was clearly something on his mind.

"Go on then," Lese said, "what is it that's bothering you?"

"It's not  _bothering_ me," Arfer stated, "it's just that...this girl you found today. The messenger."

"She said her name was Auri," Lese offered.

"Auri," Arty repeated sourly, "what did she  _specifically_ say?"

Lese shrugged, "That they're coming for the Bastards."

"Is that  _all_ she said?" Arfer pressed on, 

"Why does it matter?" Lese asked in exasperation. The nerves of meeting the Messenger had drained him, and now he would do anything to be in Helmchet's position, asleep in the warm dorm room, "Why aren't you upstairs anyway? It's late."

Arfer shrugged, "I couldn't sleep," he mumbled. For some reason a lot of his anger and sarcasm seemed to evaporate this late at night, "But I didn't want to sit in the dark all by myself. I thought Lenmax would be here so I could talk with him until I got tired."

"You can talk with me until you're tired," Lese offered quietly, "As long as you don't hit me."

Arfer smiled, illuminated by the fire. It was beautiful. "As long as you don't call me big-ears."

"Alright big-ears," Lese said fondly, and Arty just shook his head, turning back to the flames. For a while they just sat there, quiet, staring at the amber and gold and crimson of the element in front of them. Arfer scooted ever so slightly closer, almost like he was accepting Lese's friendship. Maybe it was fear of the Killingard that was making him act so weird, but Lese wasn't complaining. 

"Do you remember?" Arty asked quietly, looking at the fire, "when we were kids and we used to play hide and seek? All of us Bastards and you and Max, and sometimes Varr too."

"Aye," Lese smiled at the memory - a whole load of children in kimonos dashing in-between trees, giggling and trying to be invisible, "They were kinder times."

"Were they?" Arfer mused, "it wasn't so long after the War of the Trees and yet here - at the Tower - we never felt that. We never experienced the hate and pain of the outside world, it was just so...blissful."

"We were children, we thought walls could protect us," Lese didn't like the path the conversation was taking. Arfer looked sad, heartbreakingly so, and Lese wished he could do something to change that.

"I don't understand why they hate us so much," Arty whispered, almost like a secret that Lese wasn't supposed to hear, "The Humans, and the Shapeshifters, the Killingard...why do they all hate us so damn much?"

"I don't hate you," Lese said fiercely, "it's only extremists, like Killingard, the others are coming around-"

"Are they?" Arty turned around, and his eyes were bright with anger. For once the anger wasn't directed at Lese, "last week I went down to town with Danfrea. Some man offered to marry her to save her from the 'lower-class life' since she was human. When Danny said she was with me, he spat at my feet and said 'dirty Nurturer.' And I couldn't do anything," his hands clenched into fists, "because I'm a second hand citizen and if I lift a finger against  _anybody_ I'll be executed."

"We're fighting it," Lese whispered, trying desperately to soothe Arfer, "The Freedom Decree, it can't stand for much longer," Arty let out a shaky breath and buried his face in his hands, as if to collect himself. Lese had never seen him so broken, so confused. He wanted to reach out and touch the boy's shoulder, offer him some comfort. But he wasn't allowed to do that, "We're all scared," he said softly, "but the Killingard won't hurt you."

"I'd like to see them try," Arfer laughed darkly. Lese smiled and when their gazes met, Arfer smiled too. It was a shy, uncertain smile and it made Lese want to kiss him. 

"Do you remember," Arty whispered again, "That time when he played hide and seek and we hid in the pond?"

Lese's smile grew, "Aye, and you had to give me air or I would've drowned. We won that round."

The way Arty looked at him was peculiar, and it made heat pool in Lese's stomach, "That was my first kiss," the boy mumbled. 

For a second Lese couldn't breathe.

"I...does that even count?" he tried to joke. Arfer flushed and sat up quickly,

"It doesn't matter," he said as he stood up, his hands trembling, "I barely remember it anyway," and with that he turned back to the bathhouse, where all the lights had gone out. Lese swore at himself for being such a fool, and ruining the moment. Of course it counted! Aye, the kiss was between two twelve year old boys, underwater, part of a game, but it still counted. Miserably, Lese thought,  _It will be the only kiss between me and Arfer, ever._

***

Lenmax, Helmchet and Lese were seated in front of Amar-Ana's mahogany desk. The owner of the brothel sat with his hands interlocked in front of him, his cloak swept over one shoulder. Behind him the sun was setting, making him seem like some ethereal creature. Lese didn't know why they were meeting with their boss, since so far everything has been quiet and there had been no more sightings of the Killingard (which was somehow more unnerving than if they just attacked). Still, Padrilon clearly had something to say.

"I think some thankyou's are in order," the man said, surprising the guards, "You three have always been part of the White Tower, and protected it. And yet until this point there had been no real threat against us. Well, there is now, and I will not hold it against you if you wish to take no part in the conflict between the workers here and the Killingard. But know that if you decide to stay you are part of this fight, whatever that may mean. So - I will give you this one chance to choose what you want to do. You are free to go if you do not want to endanger your person."

"It's our job, sire," Lese said immediately. The thought to abandon the Bastards, his family, hadn't even crossed his mind. Lenmax nodded,

"Aye, we stay."

Helmchet just inclined his head. Lese might've not been fond of him (not with the way he looked at Arty) but he was glad that there was more of them to protect the Tower. Padrilon nodded,

"You have my thanks," he said, "but I am a man of deeds and not words so therefore I offer you this; after the threat from the extremists is gone, you may ask one thing of me and I will grant it."

"Anything, sire?" Lenmax looked unsure. Lese's hands felt damp as he swallowed nervously, looking at Padrilon, who simply nodded.

"Whatever your heart desires; money, a manse in the countryside, a good match for a marriage. You deserve it, all three of you, for remaining at our sides during this time of darkness."

The three guards said their thanks, bowed, and backed out of the room, and the whole time Lese felt like he was in a dream. Lenmax was asking him what he wanted after this whole thing blew over, but Lese seemed to have left his tongue in Padrilon's office, because he couldn't speak. He knew what he wanted, but up until this point he hadn't thought it was possible. And now...

All he had to do was defend his home, and in return he could ask for Arfer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please, please leave kudos and comments xx


	6. The Meeting in Room Seventeen

** **

**\- VARR -**

He didn't understand his father. If it was up to Varr he'd hire carriages, close down the White Tower and take the Bastards to the one of their country manses. They were Varr's  _family,_ he grew up with them and now someone was coming for them, to hurt them. He knew that the bathhouse was his father's everything and that's why he was reluctant to leave without the due evidence that the Killingard were truly going to attack. Varr didn't care about evidence - he wanted his family to be safe. The idea that someone could break into his home and kill Cvernia for being a witch, Arty for being a merman, Dwen and Hal for being nymphs, and Leo and Thom for being elves...it was unbearable.

His father wasn't being rational, but Varr couldn't force him to close the bathhouse until the threat passed because it would never pass. The re-signing of the Freedom Decree was fast approaching, less than a fortnight away, and of there weren't enough names on that paper slavery would be abolished, but that didn't mean the Killingard would back down. Hate was just embedded in some people. But when Varr told Amar-Ana all this, his father just shook his head and said he couldn't turn the guests away mainly because of the Thyar Bryary delegation, which could decide what the outcome of the re-signing of the Decree would be. Varr could see that, knew it was important, and yet it unnerved him to know that somewhere out in the woods where he and the Bastards used to play games as children, rebels waited to sneak past the walls and slit their throats.

"Hey," Lenmax, who was only two years older than Varr and his best friend for as long as he could remember, said, "there's no need fretting. Me and Lese and Helmchet will protect the Tower."

"I know," Varr murmured, "but we are few and they are many." _and I am afraid._ Not for himself, Varr knew that as a shapeshifter he was safe, but he was scared for the others. Lenmax's peculiar pale eyes calmed him down considerably though. The man just had that aura that put everybody at ease. 

"They're our family too," Lenmax continued in his soothing voice, putting his dark hand on Varr's shoulder, "we'd never let anything happen to them. Especially Lese - you know how crazy he is about Arty, even if he refuses to admit it."

Varr shook his head and closed his eyes, leaning back on the wall and enjoying the last of the winter sun warming his face. The two were up on the roof, sitting by the battlements to get a moment's peace,"That man will be in denial until he dies and his bones turn to dust."

"Aye," Lenmax smiled. The two men just sat for some time, watching sunlight sparkle off the dome that held the bath that the guards and Bastards used. It was the holy day and so most of the clients had travelled to the city to go to the market place or to the House of Prayers, and the Bastards had the afternoon off. Since they weren't allowed to leave the White Tower premises they spent the day running around like over-excited children. Leo, Risja and Hal practically destroyed one of the guest rooms after a viscous pillow fight and Chardwen egged Will not long after lunch for no apparent reason, screaming 'I hate gingers!' at the top of his lungs. Now as Varr and Lenmax took a moments break from babysitting the fools, they could sense that their peace was about to be disturbed.

They heard what sounded like a hammer pounding on metal and they had time to just exchange a look. Then the door to the rooftop burst open and the Bastards spilled out, shouting and laughing and making an unholy ruckus. Wilawil and Arfer were clearly having a race as they shoved at each other, trying to get to the dome first. At one point Will knocked the dark haired boy's legs from underneath him and both of them were sent sprawling, which ended up with them wrestling on the floor. Leophinia didn't bother to get into the dome as she started pulling off her flowy dress over her head, discarding it on the rooftop as she leisurely strolled into the dome, ignoring the cool afternoon air. Vern followed her with her eyes before going in after her. 

"Leophinia you are a whore not a stripper!" Halisen yelled in annoyance, picking up the girls clothing after her. Risja and Danny came in last with Thomar and Lese, who was supervising the hyperactive bunch. The two girls spotted Lenmax and Varr and walked over to them, arm in arm, 

"There you are!" Risja was grinning, her hair even more red in the sunlight, "We were looking for you."

"Aye," Lese came over and Thom followed behind him, hesitantly. Every time Varr saw him his stomach would twist - he regretted the night he took the boy to the Veiled Lady. But that night he had been afraid that Thomar would run, and yet Varr had no means to stop it because he was so against slavery that he wouldn't dare keep anybody anywhere against their will. And taking the young Bastard to the brothel seemed to help since the boy didn't attempt to escape in the past two days. Varr still felt weird around him. The boy would flush and turn away every time his eyes met Varr's, which the man found both endearing and unsettling. 

Right now Thomar was practically hiding behind Lese as Danny and Risja casually talked to Lenmax and Varr,

"Lese is an old man," Risja complained, pouting, "he cannot keep up with our excitement."

"It's not my fault you're a bunch of children," Lese sighed, rubbing his forehead. 

"I can take over if you want?" Lenmax offered.

"We  _don't_ need supervision!" Danfrea protested, "We're old enough, we can take care of ourselves-"

"We're not risking it," Varr said calmly, "I'd rather you get irritated at being guarded at all times, then get hurt."

"Varr's right," Risja sighed, "You should come for a swim with us. Lese acts like he wants time off, but in reality he is too busy staring at Arty's arse to actually be that bothered about our behaviour."

"I do  _not_ stare at Arfer's arse!" Lese protested heatedly, and everyone snickered. Even Thom cracked a smile, which Varr was pleased about. Danfrea pulled Lenmax to his feet,

"Bath! Bath! Bath!" Risja chanted, and her friend joined in. Lenmax and Lese rolled their eyes fondly and let the girls drag them towards the dome, "Hey! Varr come on!" Risja shouted. Varr shook his head, he felt like having some alone time,

"You go on!" he shouted. The girl shrugged and soon enough they disappeared in the dome with the guards. Thomar stayed. He looked like he half wanted to run after the other Bastards, and half like he wanted to sit down next to Varr. The man hoped it was the latter, "Hey," he said softly. Thomar had a pretty blush on his pale cheeks and he cleared his throat awkwardly,

"I...do you mind if I sit with you?" he asked, not looking at Varr, "I don't feel like bathing."

Varr just nodded, his throat feeling uncomfortably tight. He moved over, indicating that Thom was welcome to sit down and the boy gratefully collapsed next to him, careful to ensure that there were some inches between them, almost like a barrier. Half of Varr wanted to reach out and close the space between them, because it was insufferable, and half of him wanted to move further away, to make sure that Thomar was comfortable. They sat in silence for some time, listening to the shrieks and splashes coming from the dome, and Varr tried to think of something to say, when Thomar suddenly spoke.

"I have a request," he said quietly, and it was clear he had thought about it for a long time, because his voice was steady even as his hands twisted around each other nervously. 

"Go on," Varr felt a pit in his stomach the way you would do when someone says  _I have an announcement to make -_ it was a mixture of anticipation, excitement and fear. A flush was rising up Thomar's cheeks.

"I...my virginity is being auctioned off," he stated, as if he wanted Varr to confirm it. The man remained silent, so after a short, uncomfortable pause Thomar continued, "However I am...afraid. I know this is my life now and I am not trying to change it - and I won't try to run away again," he looked at Varr shyly through his eyelashes and the man's heart clenched, "but...I...I wish for at least  _some_ experience, so I am not completely useless. I...I asked Leophinia to help me, and Chardwen too, but they're...it makes me uncomfortable to open up to them."

"What do you want from me, Thomar?" Varr asked, his impatience getting the best of him. Thom's hands clenched into fists,

"I want you to show me how to please a client," he said determinedly, and then his voice died away to hesitance again, "I...I trust you won't make fun of me. Or tell anybody."

"Because then you'll tell them about my trips to the Veiled Lady?" Varr guessed, a bitterness in his mouth. His father would kill him if he knew -  _what were you thinking? I didn't spent half my life building up our family name for you to ruin it in some second hand whore-house!_ The wide-eyed look Thom gave him reassured Varr that the boy was so naive and innocent that he hadn't even thought of that. 

"Oh," the boy mumbled, and then went quiet again. He kept glancing at the dome, and then at his hands, and then back to Varr, "So...what's your answer?"

Varr knew he should say no. He was under strict rules, just like the guards, of not getting involved with any of the Bastards. And yet the way Thomar was looking at him...it looked like he actually trusted Varr with this, and the man couldn't seem to turn him down.

"Meet me tomorrow after sunset in room seventeen," he said, and Thomar's face changed to one of relief, with a bit of fear mixed in for good measure.

*** 

The boy was sitting on the lush bed when Varr came in, heart on his shoulder. All night and most of the day he had fought with himself about if he should even show up to his and Thom's 'meeting' but in the end no matter how many times he told himself it was a terrible idea, he couldn't seem to stop his feet from leading him to room seventeen. So there he was now, standing a few feet away from Thomar, who looked more scared than anything. It was dark outside but that didn't matter since the rich red curtains has been pulled closed over the windows. Thomar sat on the bed piled high with ebony blankets, looking half like a ghost. The beeswax candles in the room gave it a dim but warm glow, and made the corners of the spacious chamber drown in shadows.

"Hello," Thomar mumbled, his hands clenched in the blankets. His pale hair fell into his bright blue eyes, and Varr noticed that his kimono was open just enough to tempt Varr to do something indecent. Which was essentially what he was in the room to do anyway, but he was prepared to control himself. 

"Hello," he replied, calmly and softly, as to not scare Thom, "Are you sure about this?"

Thomar just nodded, staring at his feet. The atmosphere was peculiar. It wasn't uncomfortable, but very tense, as if the world was waiting to see what would happen. Varr had no reservations left as he crossed the room and gently placed his hand on Thomar's delicate shoulder. The boy was all pale moonlight and feather-bones. 

"Lie down," he instructed gently. He felt more than saw Thom shiver as the boy looked at him for a moment. Apparently that's only how long he could take to meet Varr's eye because he hurriedly looked away and laid down on the dark covers, his hands clenching in the blankets, eyes looking straight up at the canopy. Varr hesitated for a moment, but then he slowly climbed on top of Thomar. He could feel how tense the boy was, his cheeks bright red, his eyes focused on virtually anything but Varr.  

"Hey," Varr whispered as he carefully turned Thom's face so the boy faced him. The elf looked unsure, and half like an angel, his hair and skin making a beautiful contrast with the covers beneath him, "Tell me when you want to stop," Varr murmured. He said  _when_ not  _if,_ because he knew Thomar would want to stop at some point - Varr would force him to stop if he had to. Going all the way in one night could be all too much and too fast for the boy, and maybe that's why Varr agreed to do this - because he hated the idea of a scared Thom lying in the bed of some client who wouldn't stop at 'no.' 

Varr didn't wait for Thom to respond to his statement as he moved his hand from the boy's jaw, trailing it up his face. Thomar remained perfectly still, his eyes trained on Varr's face as if now he was scared to look away. When Varr brushed the hair from the elf's forehead it felt feather soft against his fingers, and unbearably fragile, just like the rest of Thom, pressed lightly against Varr.

"You need to relax," Varr said, his free hand coming to rest on Thom's hip gently. The boy exhaled shakily, "I'm going to kiss you now, alright?" Varr asked. The boy searched his face for something for a moment, and then he nodded. Varr trusted that he'd tell him if he wanted to stop, so he didn't ask again as he leaned down slowly and pressed his lips against the elf's.

Thomar's initial reaction was to tense up again, his hands flying up to grip at the material of Varr's shirt on his chest. Varr almost smiled to himself, but instead he pulled away just an inch, so Thom could let out an unsteady breath. Varr gently pried the boy's hands from his chest and then pinned them down to the pillows with his own hands, slotting his and Thom's mouths together again. It wasn't even truly a proper kiss - more like a brush of lips. Varr pressed just hard enough for Thom to know that he was there, but lightly enough so the boy didn't feel threatened.

After a few seconds passed, Thom relaxed ever so slightly, and Varr took that as sign to start kissing him properly. He moved his lips against Thom's, open-mouthed but chaste. Thomar's lips were impossibly soft and they trembled when he hesitantly responded to the kiss, trying to mimic Varr's movements. He was sloppy and uncoordinated, but Varr didn't mind. A warmth started to spread in his chest and he let go of Thomar's wrists so he could cup his cheek with one hand. Thom's own hand immediately came up to cling onto that hand, as if to ensure that Varr kept it there. That's when Varr decided to deepen the kiss, nipping gently at Thomar's bottom lip. The boy was a fast learner so he hurriedly parted his lips, allowing Varr's tongue into his mouth. The man was more pleased than he thought he would be when Thom let out a little startled gasp, his knees bending so Varr was comfortably nestled in-between the elf's legs. 

Varr wasn't proud to say he lost a bit of his self-control then, his free hand gripping Thom's waist as he kissed him harder. The boy kissed him back almost feverishly now, their tongues sliding together in no particular order. Varr liked it though - how messy and unpractised it was, how good it felt to have Thom press against him, kissing him back just as passionately as Varr was kissing him. Thom tasted like cherries, and Varr's stomach clenched when he felt something hard against his thigh, though he decided not to mention it as he pulled away from the elf. 

Thomar just laid there, looking dazed, his hair mussed. His lips were now as red as his cheeks, and slightly swollen. For some reason his kimono had come more undone and slipped off one of his shoulders, revealing more of his tantalisingly gorgeous skin. Varr found that as he looked at Thom, panting for breath, he wanted to lean down and kiss every inch of skin on show. But of course he didn't do that. 

"I think that's enough for today," he murmured, though he wanted nothing more then to pull Thomar's clothes off and take care of him properly. The boy looked at him, lost, and licked his lips,

"What?" he mumbled, confused. Varr had to force himself to pull away and get off the bed, his heart pounding, heat coiling in his stomach.

"We'll continue this another day," he said with some difficulty. Thomar sat up hastily, looking like a debauched fallen angel. Gods, Varr wanted to ravish him. 

"But...you were meant to-"

"Another day, Thom," Varr repeated again, and then he couldn't take it anymore, and with a quick bow he left the room before Thomar drove him crazy.

*** 

"Father-"

"The guards hadn't reported anything," Padrilon said, firmly but he looked like he was somewhere else, dipping a quill into a small pot of ink and signing something on a parchment, "and you know how important the Thyar Bryary delegation is. We cannot send them away."

"I don't  _care_ about that damn delegation," Varr growled, coming closer to his fathers desk, "This is our family we're speaking of."

"Our family they may be, but they are still second class citizens. If I am seen putting their lives over the pleasure of the first class then we will loose the prestige we currently have-"

Varr slammed his hands on the table, startling his father. Varr angered rarely, and when he did it was usually quiet and contained - he never shouted, or showed his emotions. He thought it was sign of weakness, and easier for someone to use it against you. That's why Varr was determined to never showed anger or guilt, happiness, pleasure, fear or even love. But now he needed to make his father realize he was making a mistake. 

"You're putting the opinions of people above...above the  _safety_ of the Bastards," he seethed, unable to control himself. He didn't comprehend how his father could be so foolish. Padrilon's eyes turned cold as he rose, straightening out his cloak.

"Varr," he said calmly, "There is no danger. A threat is just that. Now leave this room and compose yourself."

Still boiling with anger, Varr swept from the room and strode through the Tower, hands in fists. He passed Danfrea who's excited smile melted from her young face when she saw his expression. Varr almost felt bad, but then he remembered that his father was risking this girl's  _life_ because he wanted to keep his clients, and that just fuelled his anger. He didn't want anybody else to see him like that so he hurried down the stairs, past closed doors. Thankfully it was dinner time and most guests and Bastards were downstairs in the mess hall or the kitchen. 

Varr came outside. It was a cold, late afternoon - the sky was steely grey and spilling with clouds, heavy with the promise of snowfall. The courtyard was deserted save for Lenmax and Helmchet, who were building a fire near the main gate, preparing for the night's guarding. Varr hurried past them, but of course it couldn't be that easy. 

"Varr!" Lenmax crossed into Varr's path so the man had to stop. His friend frowned when he saw him, "What is it?" he asked in a hushed voice, "Did something happen?"

"I need to be alone right now," Varr replied, taking care not to snap. Lenmax glanced at the gate, and then back at Varr,

"Is it wise?" he asked, "To go out-"

" _Max._ "

The guard respectfully moved to the side, "Aye. Look out for any signs of trouble."

Varr just nodded and then strode past Lenmax and out of the gate, which had not yet been closed for the night. Past it for a few steps there was a ring of stamped out grass where clients often unhorsed or stepped out of their carriages, and then abruptly the woods started. Varr saw the road which snaked between the tall oak trees, leading towards the town, but he took the other route, plunging right into the wilderness. He had gotten maybe just a few feet into the forest when he felt his body shift. 

Usually Varr was good at controlling his emotions and body, and yet whenever he took care to conceal his emotions his body rebelled and he'd find himself shape-shifting against his wishes. It happened now too, and Varr knew better than to fight it. His body morphed until the man was on four feet, his face elongating into a nuzzle, thick fur sprouting from his body like grass. Suddenly Varr was bombarded with smells and sounds and touch - he was surrounded by the overpowering stink of the tower, sex and food and horses and scented baths all mixing together. But there was the smell of the forest too, fresh and pleasant. When Varr's tongue lolled out of his mouth he could taste the crispiness of the air, and he knew the snow would fall any moment now. 

He started further into the forest, marvelling at his form. He knew what he looked like, had taken this specific form a thousand times. A shapeshifter could become any animal they wished, and yet after some years they had a few that were easier to shift into than others. The russet wolf that Varr was right now was his favourite, just like the bat was Lenmax's, and the bear Lese's, and the panther his fathers. As the wolf Varr felt like he was visiting an old friend, because as a wolf he was different, had a different agenda - he wanted to mate and to find prey and to eat. 

He caught a whiff of something, a deer somewhere in the dark tangle of the trees. Varr couldn't stop the howl that spilled from his throat, loud and long, scaring a branch of ravens away. Varr followed the scent, but he didn't need to go far. The clouds finally parted, and sprinkled snow onto the world. Varr could taste it against his tongue, cold and fresh, and he knew that in a while the little drizzle would turn into a storm and bury the tower. He needed to finish hunting by then. 

The ground had a thin layer of the element on it like a blanket when Varr finally came into the little clearing. The trees ringed around it like a wall. In the middle was a clump of stones which must've came from a nearby river. But instead of finding the deer there, Varr saw a boy. For a moment he thought that he must've been there for years, for he looked to be covered in snow. But he smelled _alive,_ and when Varr trotted closer uneasily he realised with a start that it was just Thomar. 

The man had no idea, even in his wolf form, how the boy could've gotten past the guards but somehow he was here, out in the open where anyone from the Killingard could murder him. That thought made a growl come from Varr's chest, and that's when Thom finally noticed him. The boy's eyes widened in fear and he stood up hurriedly, stumbling back. He stepped on the edge of the too-big cloak he was bundled up in and went sprawling backwards into the powdery snow. A pang of worry went through Varr, evaporating his anger as he trotted up to the boy. 

Thomar tried to shuffle away from the wolf but his back hit the rock and he had nowhere to go. He was breathing hard, his cheeks flushed, his hair the colour of snow falling into his eyes. 

"I-I...," he started. Varr just watched him. He knew the boy was scared of him, but he would never hurt him. He retained full consciousness in his wolf form and he knew his friends from his enemies. Thom was a friend. Varr took a step closer, his paws making dents in the snow and Thom whimpered, "P-Please don't kill me," he whispered, and Varr didn't blame him for saying foolish things as he was panicking. 

Varr bent his head to Thom's hand and the boy cringed away, eyes squeezed shut as if he thought Varr would bite his fingers off. Instead the man nuzzled at his wrist. He could feel the steady rhythm of Thom's pulse underneath his soft skin, and he licked at the boys palm. Thom inhaled sharply and Varr sat back, looking at him, curious to see what the boy would do next. Thom looked him in the eyes for a few heartbeats and then he raised his trembling hand to Varr's head, where he rested it gently, fearfully. 

"G-Good boy," he mumbled shakily and Varr would've smirked if he could. He let Thom pet him for a bit, getting more relaxed and confident as snow continued to fall all around them. Varr was noticing little things about him, like the fact that his eyes were red and the air smelled salty. Thom had been crying and that made Varr let out a little compassionate whimper as he moved forward to nose at Thom's cheek and neck. He smelled delightful. 

Thomar let out a little sad laugh as he pressed back against Varr, his cold fingers buried in the wolf's fur.

"I did something bad," he murmured. Varr's ears perked up with interest and Thom rested his forehead against his neck, taking an unsteady breath, "I promised...I promised my friend that I wouldn't try and run away again. And look at me now...," he laughed again and it ended in a little sob, "Gods I'm lost. Not only that, I'm lost in the snow. I-I was going to g-go into town or s-something, maybe find some e-elf encampment...but then I realised that there w-was no point. I have nowhere to go, t-the only thing I'm meant to b-be is a p-prostitute...a-and now I'm here t-talking to a w-wolf...," he was blabbering, barely making sense. His hands felt dangerously cold. 

Varr's heart clenched in his chest when Thom dissolved into sobs again. His misery was palpable in the air, and Varr just wanted to comfort him, make him feel better. Of course there was nothing he could do - he was just the son of a bathhouse owner. Aye, he was wealthy but that didn't change the fact that under the Freedom Decree Thom was a slave. Suddenly Varr understood why his father was so determined to please the Thyar Bryary delegation - they were the ones who could change this, end Thom's suffering. 

When Thomar had used up all his tears and was just sniffling, still holding onto Varr, the wolf licked his cheek and nipped at his hand, making Thom stand up. 

"What is it?" the boy looked exhausted and cold, the snow was falling harder. Varr nudged his hand so the boy buried his fingers in his fur again, and then he led him back into the trees. The elf seemed to trust Varr completely, which was both pleasant and foolish. All Varr wanted was to get him safely back to the White Tower before the boy caught the flu or got hypothermia, "Are you taking me back?" Thom asked as they delved further out. Varr didn't reply,  _couldn't_ reply, but when they caught sight of the walls surrounding the bathhouse the elf slumped against Varr, maybe from relief or maybe because he had given up. Either way, Varr took him all the way to the closed gate. The sun had already disappeared behind the horizon, and the sky was darkening faster and faster. Varr was hopelessly glad that he had found Thom, because the idea that he could have been out in the dark forest all by himself at night was horrifying.

"Who goes there?!" Lenmax was at the door, and his expression morphed from hard suspicion into worry in a second, "Thomar?!" he demanded as he unlatched the gate, letting it creak open. Varr melted behind the first line of trees as Max bombarded Thom with questions, ushering him inside. The elf looked behind him, clearly searching for Varr, and his expression fell when he couldn't see the wolf. He disappeared inside the tower and that's when Lenmax looked back at the forest, "Varr?" he called. 

Varr came out from the trees already in human form, the snow like salt in his hair, "Don't tell him," was all he said. 


	7. The Lord

** **

**-THRIS-**

Adrael Charheredan's body was buried underneath the earth that had now frozen over, and was layered with snow for good measure. Thris didn't do that - the elements did. All he did was slit the man's throat and then take on his identity. Throughout his short twenty-year old life, Thris Othryth never expected to find himself in the most prestigious whore house in the kingdom, pretending to be part of an important delegation. And yet the Killingard had given him an order, and Thris had completed it. It wasn't that he believed in the Killingard's cause - he couldn't care less about the outcome of the re-signing of the Freedom Decree, but he was poor, and on the streets, and the Killingard had promised him a home and a full belly if he joined them. So Thris did, and now he wasn't regretting it. Killing some stuck-up posh heir to some faraway throne hadn't been a problem to him. Him and his three companions, who together had become the 'new' Thyar Bryary delegation, had travelled as guards for the real delegation for days. Thris heard what they were saying - they had wanted to sign against the Nurturers anyway, so it made no matter if the Killingard did it for them. 

And Thris...Thris was finally not afraid. Of course he was scared of being found out but with the Killingard never straying too far from the Tower so he wasn't too worried, not the way he had been on the streets where he had to fend for his life everyday. Now he had a bed to sleep in, and food to eat, and he decided to enjoy it while it lasted. The Killingard's instructions had been clear - invoke enough fear so that the guests of the White Tower evacuate, leaving the Bastards unguarded. Then the others would swoop in and kill the Nurturers. Thris often felt a pang of guilt when he thought about the massacre that would take place, especially while he was bedding a Bastard. He decided to just not speak to them, because attachment could turn out bad in this situation. 

" _Thris_ ," he heard the hiss the second he returned to the suite that he and the rest of the 'delegation' were staying in. The real Cireth Vyae, Princess of Elfyae and an arrogant girl who liked to spit at the ones below her was probably frozen now, resting next to her comrades somewhere in a forest days away. Nalia Rismos - the peasant girl pretending to be Cireth - was glaring daggers at Thris. Her pale lilac hair was pulled back, so Thris could feel the full fury of her dark brown eyes, "I told you to not draw attention to yourself!"

"What do you think will draw more attention?" Thris snapped, "Being holed up in our room or actually doing what you're meant to do in a  _whorehouse_?"

Nalia sighed and rubbed her temples as if trying to chase away a headache. Thris only met her at the beginning of their mission, and he liked her alright except for the moments when she became paranoid. She disapproved of virtually anything that would put her and her comrades in the centre of attention - including using the baths and sleeping with the prostitutes, which Thris found idiotic since that's what they were there for. And to complete the mission of course.

"Nalia, he's right," Iriro Anashe said from where she was standing by the window, gazing out into the night. With her short black curls and regal features she could easily pass for Eamaira Hereda, the dead heiress to Mecren Hill. Thris was glad that they were in this together because Nalia's paranoia was seriously doing his head in. 

"I won't fuck them," Nalia hissed, violently shoving her lilac hair from her forehead, "They're  _Nurturers!_ They're-"

"Enough with your hateful bullshit," Thris snapped, his eye twitching, "We all know our mission you don't need to constantly remind us with your prejudice."

"How can you stand it?!" Nalia rose abruptly. Iriro sighed barely audibly and pressed her forehead against the cold glass, apparently preparing herself for another of Nalia's lectures, "We're privileged enough to be part of the superior race! You are the  _heir_ to Thyar Bryary now, Adrael! You can sleep with anyone,  _anyone,_ and yet you chose a group of Nurturer whores in a brothel-"

"I am  _not_ Adrael, or a heir to anything," Thris snapped. He was tired of Nalia's hate. Of course he harboured no love for Nurturers, but he had none for his own species either. He just wanted to get paid and then hopefully leave the Killingard, "We are no heirs to anything and don't forget it. In less than a fortnight the only person I will be able to fuck is some dirty camp follower back with the Killingard so don't-" his hand clenched into a fist, "So don't tell me what to do."

Iriro exhaled, making the glass in front of her face cloud over, "Are you done repeating the same argument over and over?" he asked quietly, "Both of you?"

Nalia sat back down on the spacious bed and turned dramatically away from Thris. 

"Pretend all you want," Thris felt deadly calm as the poisoned words spilled from his mouth, "Pretend that you're the heiress to Elfyae. But you're not. You name is not Cireth Vyae, it's Nalia Rismos and all you are, all you'll _ever_ be, is a sellsword killer."

Nalia moved faster than Thris could follow, and then pain exploded on his cheekbone where Nalia's fist made contact. Thris stumbled back, shocked, his cheek ablaze with pain and the girl advanced, fist raised.

" _Stop it!_ " Ranesso Darlor, who personally slit the throat of Elian Rocbeo, heir to Mery Hall back in a cold, dark wood, stumbled out of the bathroom. His shoulder-length dark curls were damp from his bath, and he was only in a robe when he hauled Nalia away, practically throwing her into the wall, "Are you both insane?!" the man fumed. He was the oldest of the group, and originally he was meant to impersonate Adrael Charheredan. However when they met him - the tall, skinny, young man, they decided Thris was better suited for the role. 

Nalia looked like a witch, like she was about to invoke the storm to come down and fight Thris with lightning. Her face was dark, her fists clenched. Thris turned away, his cheekbone throbbing with heat and pain, so furious he felt unsteady on his feet.

"Thris-" Iriro started, taking a step towards her friend. Thris stumbled from the bedroom and into the living space, where he hauled the door open and went out into the corridor. He didn't know where he was going, he just blindly pushed forward. He could barely breathe with how furious he was - over the past few days he had lost sight of their mission, or maybe he just wanted desperately to forget it. He didn't want to kill people, and by losing himself in sex he had managed to forget about it, it only for a moment. And now Nalia had to remind him. She always had to fucking remind him. Thris wanted to throw up. 

He shoved past clients and he realised he was on one of the higher floors, because there was steam escaping from the gaps underneath doors. Thris felt so helpless, like someone's puppet. He wanted to scream and cry, and he couldn't do either. People were giving him weird looks and when someone called  _'Lord Adrael!'_ Thris didn't react because  _it wasn't his name._

Then the man was in front of him. It was the whore from a few days past, the one that had mistaken Thris for someone else, and the one Thris had taken his anger out on, and the one who's name he didn't remember. The man looked hesitant, his dark wavy hair falling into his big, worried eyes. He was Thris' height, which allowed him to look the fraud right in the eye when he spoke to him,

"My Lord excuse me, but you look worried-" the man started.

"What's your name?" Thris snapped, something he never asked before, and his insides were blazing, just like his cheek. He needed to take his anger out somehow. The Bastard looked unsure for a second, and then he stood up straighter,

"Chardwen Ea'nas, my lord."

 _"Chardwen Ea'nas, one of the targets,"_ the Master had told Thris, out in the cold woods when he first stood with his team in a line, shivering and malnourished " _the Bastard son of Lord Yadai of Chase Castle. A nymph, part of the Nurturers. He must be eliminated."_

Well, the Bastard son of Lord Yadai now had a face to the name, and a body, and he was a person that Thris would have to kill. But right now all he was was painfully kind eyes, and a warm, gentle hand on Thris' shoulder, and that just angered the man more. 

"With me," Thris growled, "Now."

"But-" the Bastard began protesting, looking down the hallway he had clearly been heading down. Thris knew, somewhere at the back of his mind, that the Bastard had a job to do, but he didn't care. He needed someone to take the edge off  _now,_ and he didn't care if it was a man or a woman, or a Nurturer or a Bastard, he just needed someone to  _force_ the anger out of him, and the Bastard just happened to be there. 

" _Now,_ " Thris repeated, and it came out harsh and low. The Bastard didn't ask anymore questions as he broke away from Thris, leading him down the corridor. Thris' vision was darkened around the edges, his stomach was all in knots and steady waves of heat were rolling over his body, again and again as the Bastard led him up the stairs, and down a corridor, and then into a room. 

Thris barely registered it; there was a bed, dark tapestries, candles...but he didn't care as he shoved the Bastard up against the closest wall, hands curling into the man's see-through shirt. Thris kissed him and the Bastard responded immediately, practised. Thris hated it - he had kissed a man before, slept with one, though he didn't like to remember it, but now he didn't want anything to be gentle or soft or used-to, he wanted rough and sloppy, messy and unpredictable. And the Bastard wasn't giving him that - he was kissing Thris methodically, like a chore. 

"Kiss me properly you fucker," Thris growled out from between his teeth.

"I thought you only liked women," amusement sparkled in the depths of the man's eyes. Thris wanted to hit him and he was about to, but then the Bastard spun them around so his back slammed against the wall, almost painfully. It was exhilarating and when the Bastard slotted their mouths together again, Thris buried his hands in his hair and tugged, almost painfully. In response the Bastard growled low in his throat, and it sent a shiver down Thris' spine. He felt over-sensitive, his senses heightened, and all of his blood seemed to rush to his crotch. The Bastard was roughly biting at Thris' lower lip, his hands gripping the man's hips in a bruising way, and everywhere their bodies met Thris felt like he was on fire.  _I'm going to have to kill him,_ Thris thought, and then the Bastard slipped his leg in-between Thris' thighs, pressing right where he needed him to, and the thought flew out of his head. 

Thris moaned against the Bastard's mouth, and he didn't care as he grinded against his leg. Up until this point he was sure he wanted to fuck the Bastard raw, to get out his pent up frustration. But suddenly all he wanted was for someone to have their way with him, to hurt him, use him. And the Bastard would be the one to do it.

"Hurt me," Thris hissed as he pulled away, his lips feeling swollen. The Bastard's eyes were dark and full of lust and Thris couldn't tell if it was real or a well practised act but Gods he  _wanted_ it to be real.

"Anything you want, my Lord," the Bastard whispered sweetly, pressing harder against Thris' erection. The man cried out, his head falling back against the wall and exposing the line of his throat. The Bastard bent his head so he could press his mouth against it, sucking blood-red marks into Thris skin like a brand, and the redhead's world spun dizzily with every nip of his teeth or the slid of his tongue. When the Bastard bit down hard enough to draw blood a shiver wrecked Thris' body and he had to fight a whimper. He wanted to hurt the whore, and so his hand tightened in the man's hair, drawing him away from Thris' neck. The Bastard hissed in pain,

"That hurt," his eyes flashed with anger and arousal at once, and he pulled Thris' hands off of him, turning the man around roughly and violently pressing his front against the wall, twisting his arms behind his back. A shot of pain went through Thris but it turned into sizzling pleasure as the Bastard pressed himself against his back, grinding against him. Thris gasped against the wall, eyes squeezed shut as he tried to control his emotions, but it was getting increasingly harder with every one of Dwen's touches. The man bit Thris' earlobe and the redhead arched his back as he tried to press himself closer to the man. He felt an erection against his backside, and it just pleased him more. On one hand he hated how needy he was right now, but on the other hand he couldn't do anything about it - his only options were hurt somebody, or get hurt, and with the Bastard's hard body against his the latter seemed more and more appealing.

The Bastard kissed down Thris' neck, slowly and deliberately, sinking his teeth into the man's neck every few inches, so Thris knew it would be a mess by the end of their little 'encounter' but he didn't want to stop. Every twinge of pain he felt cleared his head just a tiny bit more, though now it was spinning for a different reason than anger. At some point the Bastard pulled him away from the wall, though Thris was barely aware of it until his back hit the deliciously soft bed. It was stifling hot when the Bastard leaned down again to kiss Thris roughly, and when he pulled back his arms were caging Thris in and he was frowning.

"What happened here?" he asked, voice hoarse, thumb brushing against Thris' cheekbone. The man winced, remembering Nalia's punch. It was almost enough to make him go soft in his breeches.  _Almost._

"You're here to fuck, not ask questions," he growled, gripping the Bastard by the back of his head and drawing him back in so he could slot their lips together again. During their fiery, messy kiss that made Thris' head swim, the Bastard slipped his arms underneath his shirt. Then he suddenly changed his mind and just simply ripped the piece of clothing right off of Thris. The man was glad to sacrifice Adrael Charheredan's shirt for the rush of arousal the action caused, and to feel the Bastard skin-to-skin. Calling him 'The Bastard' somehow made Thris feel better, like he wasn't about to have sex with a man (again). But right now he didn't care who he was sleeping with, and besides the Bastard clearly knew what he was doing as he nipped down Thris' bare chest. Thris' head was spinning madly as he tried to keep his breathing even, determined not to let the Bastard take him apart. And yet no matter how much he tried to keep quiet, when the other man pulled down his breeches and enveloped Thris' throbbing cock into his hot, velvety mouth with no warning, Thris had no choice but to cry out, his hips bucking upwards on their own accord. 

The Bastard didn't seem to mind as he allowed Thris' member to slide further down his throat, his hands coming to rest on the man's sharp, freckled hips, pushing him back down. Thris could've easily commanded him to let go, but he enjoyed feeling helpless at that moment, so he just sunk his fingers into the Bastard's soft curls and allowed him to lick and suck at his member until his thighs were shaking. 

"I hate you," he gritted out, letting out a shaky breath as he squeezed his eyes shut, the pleasure intoxicating, "I fucking hate you."

The Bastard's only response was a hum low in his throat which sent a pleasant vibration through Thris, causing him to choke on a moan. Every time his mind caught up to the situation and he started to get furious about letting a  _male_ Bastard anywhere near him, the Bastard would hollow his cheeks, or swirl his tongue around the head of Thris' cock, and the man would forget about what he was thinking, his mind going blank with pleasure. The Bastard was better at what he was doing than many of the girls Thris had had previously, though he hated to admit it. 

There was heat steadily building up inside of him, making his cock dribble precum into the Bastard's mouth. Some of the heat rose to his cheeks, and some twisted in his stomach, making it hard to breath or think straight. He felt every twist of the Bastard's tongue, every inch of his hot, wet mouth, but instead of the intense pleasure chasing away his anger it just made it inflame more, the arousal mixing with his emotions, making his whole body tingle as the Bastard continued to work his shaft, making it harder for Thris to keep his eyes open and keep his desperate, breathless noises at bay. It was rapidly becoming too much. 

"Stop," he mewled, embarrassed at how needy his voice came out. The hands in the Bastard's hair tugged, and the man didn't hesitate as Thris pulled him up. The fraud tried to speak but his whole world tilted sideways as his cock pressed against the Bastard's stomach. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe, feeling light headed. The pleasure was ready to topple Thris over the edge, and the Bastard's body covering his own...it felt  _good._ Thris just wanted to keep him there for some time, but he didn't want to appear weak or submissive. 

When he felt the Bastard's lips brush gently against his bruised cheek Thris flinched violently, his heart twisting painfully.

"D-Don't-" he started hoarsely, pushing the Bastard away. The man looked hurt, as Thris cleared his throat, "J-Just...I don't want you to b-be gentle."

"What do you want then, My Lord?" the Bastard asked hollowly. Thris wanted to tell him  _nothing,_ wanted to have enough willpower to get off the bed and leave the room, but his body was a traitor, and he was dizzy, and the anger still thrummed through his veins. Thris didn't want to go back to his chambers and face the frauds that pretended to be a Delegation. He wanted the Bastard to touch him more, harder and rougher, he wanted to have bruises he could take with him when he left the White Tower in ruin.

"Fuck me," Thris growled. The Bastard was on him then, pushing him down into the covers, his hands forcing Thris' legs open. The man barely had time to gasp before the Bastard's tongue was invading his mouth again. The next few moment were a dizzying blur. Thris was aware of the Bastard reaching for a vial of oil on the bedside table, and of slick fingers brushing against the part of himself that had only been touched the few times when Thris was weak, and he was scared, and furious, but didn't stop the Bastard as he slid the digits into him. The burn was welcome, wanted even, and as it spread through Thris, causing a gasp to spill out of his mouth, he finally felt his fury edging away as the Bastard worked him open. But then it started to get too good, too pleasant, and the heat in Thris' stomach was almost unbearable, "Stop," he hissed at the Bastard. Some of the candles had gone out and the man's face was shadowed, his curls falling into his eyes. The man ignored Thris' request and twisted his fingers inside him, causing Thris to cry out, "I fucking told you to  _stop_!" he growled, and the Bastard finally withdrew his digits, leaving Thris feeling almost weirdly empty. The man pushed himself up on his elbows, eyes narrowed, chest heaving, "You're just a fucking whore," he said in a low, angry voice. The Bastard's eyes flashed, "I'm giving you an honour by even allowing you to touch me and you  _will_ listen to me, understood? If I said stop, you fucking stop, it I say choke on my cock, you choke on my cock. And when I say  _fuck me_ you-"

He didn't get to finish as the Bastard suddenly wrapped a strong arm around Thris' waist, violently flipping him over so the boy was lying face down in the pillow. He inhaled a surprised breath, but the Bastard was already covering him with his own body. Thris had no idea when the man had took his breeches off, but he felt his hard cock pressing against his backside, and before Thris could utter another word, the Bastard started pushing it inside of him. 

The pain was wonderful and Thris cried out as he slumped against the pillows, only the Bastard's arm keeping him up as he continued to enter him slowly. It felt so good that Thris thought he would black out - the burn spread through his body like wildfire, scorching his every nerve and when the Bastard finally bottomed out inside of him Thris felt so full he couldn't do much more than curl his hands into the blankets and try to get enough air into his lungs before he died.

The Bastard leaned over Thris' back and bit at his neck, playfully but with a dangerous edge to it,

"Any more orders, My Lord?" he asked in a barely-whisper. 

" _Chardwen,_ " Thris' voice came out as a sob. The Bastard pulled away and then pulled out and Thris almost whined but then he slammed back in forcefully and Thris moaned helplessly against the pillows, his anger evaporating with Chardwen's every rough thrust. Chardwen reached around Thris to grip his cock in his palm, working him in time with his thrusts. Thris' back arched as his hair stuck to his sweaty forehead. He couldn't breathe, every thrust made his vision go blurry, "Harder, harder," he gasped, one hand coming up to grip at the iron headboard, " _F-Fuck-"_ Chardwen twisted his hand just right and his cock hit just the right spot inside Thris, and it was over embarrassingly fast. Thris spilled all over the blankets below and then collapsed against the sticky mess, completely boneless, his world turning too fast. 

The Bastard pulled out the second Thris was done, and the boy had to fight through his daze and force himself to turn around. He saw the Bastard pull his breeches back on, over his still-hard cock. Thris frowned, and he blamed the next part on his sex-induced brain.

"You didn't come," he muttered. The Bastard gave him a look that was half amusement and half surprise,

"Not everyone comes after three thrusts," he teased. Thris glared at him heatedly, but somehow he felt like it was a battle between them, and he wasn't about to lose.

"Come here," he growled, "That's an order."

"Yes, My Lord," now the Bastard just looked amused as he stepped towards the bed again. Thris grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him back down among the messy blankets. The Bastard didn't fight against him, almost like a puppet, and he allowed Thris to undo his breeches with trembling, numb fingers. He reached up to brush the man's fiery hair from his forehead, but Thris slapped his arm away,

"Don't," he growled in warning. The Bastard's cock sprung free of its confines, angry and red, and slick with oil.  _That was inside me moments ago,_ Thris thought amazed, as he wrapped his hand around the shaft. It was hot and wet in his palm and he pulled the Bastard in for another messy kiss because he couldn't stand to look him in the eye as he worked his hand up and down, the precum making the whole thing smooth as butter. Thris found he liked doing it, especially when the Bastard pulled away from their kiss to bury his face in Thris' shoulder and let out tiny, breathless moans. He had Thris' hips in a bruising grip and the man was still so dizzy from his orgasm that he barely noticed as his eyes fluttered shut, hand speeding up. The Bastard bit his shoulder hard and Thris gasped when he spilled all over his hand, wet and hot. They leaned against each other for a moment, both breathing hard, and then Thris pushed the Bastard away with disgust.

"Get out," he growled, wiping his hand furiously on the blankets. But it had worked - he wasn't angry anymore, just spent and exhausted. The Bastard gave him a hesitant, almost sad look, and then hurriedly stood up. 

"Yes, my Lord," he said again, tucking himself in. He left the room almost like he was afraid Thris would give him another 'order,' and the second he did, Thris collapsed on the bed and closed his eyes. He didn't want to think about it. He just wanted to sleep. 


	8. The Lost Return

** **

**-ARFER-**

"I hate this," Leophinia whined as she took another swig of her wine. She was sitting closed-legged on Arfer's bed with the boy and Risja leaning against the headboard in front of her, their legs tangled together, "I feel like a load of pigs, cooped up and waiting for slaughter."

Arfer took the bottle from her before she dropped it and took a healthy gulp. The liquor burned his throat and filled him with warmth. His head was buzzing as he leaned back, the fire from the hearth reflecting in his dark eyes.

"Aye, but at least we're safe," Risja interjected, taking the bottle from Arfer. After she drank she passed it back to Leo and slumped against Arty. The boy patted her red hair sympathetically, knowing how she felt. Boneless, like a pool of heat.

"The Killingard won't really attack," Arfer said confidently, and it could've been the alcohol talking, "we're safe. Besides, if they do attack then we can just kill them all."

Leophinia rolled her eyes, "They won't attack don't be ridiculous, they simply want to scare us," she took two gulps of the drink instead of one. They've been sitting around for some time, relieved of their duties for the night. The hearth was crackling happily, filling the room with warmth. Every so often one of the other Bastards would come into the room to change, fix up their makeup or simply rest for a few minutes. Watching them come and go made Arty dizzy. Or maybe that was a drink. He didn't indulge himself often, unlike Leo, so when he  _did_ drink, it hit him hard. Right now he and Risja were more drunk than Leo, who probably had twice as much. Arfer didn't mind - at least it made him less focused on the danger that was outside the Tower Walls.

"It's working," Arfer grumbled darkly, "the guards won't let us out of their sight. It's a miracle one of them isn't supervising us right now."

"As if we were children," Leophinia scoffed. Risja didn't answer and when Arty looked down she was passed out against his shoulder, mouth slack and eyes closed. He smiled fondly, knowing that she'd sleep like a babe until the morning, 

"I just hope the threat passes soon, so we can go out to town again," he said, in a whisper this time as to not wake his friend as he took the bottle and tipped his head back, letting the last of the slightly-warm liquid slide down his throat. He frowned, his world swimming, "It's empty."

Leophinia cursed, "The delivery won't come until next week...or maybe until after that, since Padrilon is paranoid."

"Varr has some in the cellars," Arty interjected, and burped softly, causing Leo to giggle, "I could go get some."

"You'll fall down the stairs and crack your head open," Leophinia joked, but Arfer was already untangling himself from Risja, who slumped against the pillows as if she hadn't felt it. Leo tugged a blanket over her clumsily as Arty stumbled to the doors,

"I'll be right back," he said, swaying on his feet, "Don't fall asleep, Leo," his hand passed through the door as it turned to smoke around him. He watched it, mesmerised, as Leophinia saluted him,

"Yessir," she slurred.

She was right and Arfer did  _almost_ fall down the stairs and crack his head open. The world spun into an unsteady blur of red tapestries and stone steps, and for a while Arfer didn't know if he was going up or down, until he realised he wasn't moving at all. Somehow he made it down the stairs though, and then down another. He walked down the corridor, watching clients walk in and out of their rooms. Cvernia stopped him on the second floor,

"Arfer," her hands on his shoulders came as a surprise as she peered at his face, "Are you drunk?"

"No," Arty lied, and then snorted. Vern sighed,

"Gods Leo couldn't have picked a worse night to start drinking," she muttered, "Go back upstairs."

Arty leaned their foreheads together so he could steady himself a little bit. Vern smelled like sex, "I need to get more wine," the boy whispered, and giggled again. Vern pulled away gently,

"I'm going to ask Lese to escort you to the kitchen and get you water, aye?" she asked. Arfer pulled a face even though the mention of Lese made his insides feel warm and gooey,

"No," he whined, "Not Lese."

"Wait here, don't even think about going anywhere," Vern said in reply, and disappeared somewhere. Arfer leaned against a wall. His breathing seemed obnoxiously loud in his own ears as the liquor did its job, making everything seem dream-like. A man - a client - noticed Arty and started making his way towards him. In his state Arty doubted he'd be able to stop the man from having sex with him  _and_ not paying, so he quickly turned away and stumbled down the next set of stairs. The ground floor was almost deserted, and Arty's brain was so muddled that he went to the kitchen before he realised he was meant to be heading to the cellar. 

When he finally found his way, he almost tripped over his own feet as he practically flew down the stairs to the cellar. It was dark down there, half of the torches that were meant to be burning were gutted out. The walls were lined with shelves full of jars of emergency food. After passing past them and almost knocking some over, Arfer found the door to the wine storage room. His hands fumbled with the doorknob for some moments, and Arfer swore as he tried to get his brain to concentrate on his movements. 

He didn't remember opening the door, he couldn't feel his feet on the floor but when he staggered into a second cellar room, full of wine barrels stacked from the floor to the ceiling. Only one torch burned in the smaller chamber ,giving it an eerie golden glow. Arty stared at the barrels for a heartbeat and then swore - he should've brought the wine bottle from upstairs so he could've refilled it. Now he had nothing to put the wine in, and he couldn't exactly roll a barrel up the stairs in his state. He'd have to return upstairs (the idea of making that journey again made him groan), take the bottle from Leo and come back down here. He didn't want to - he wanted to curl up in a ball among the barrels and go to sleep.  _Only for a moment,_ Arty told himself as the strength left him. The alcohol made his brain muddled so he sat down on the cold concrete ground and pressed his back against the barrels. It was freezing in the cellar so the wine didn't heat up, and Arfer was just in his shirt and some breeches. His breath made a cloud in front of his face but he decided that didn't matter since he was just there for a mome-

***

Arfer didn't mean to fall asleep. Gods, he didn't mean too but he and alcohol made a clumsy dancing pair, and he couldn't stop himself from passing out. When he came to, Lese was kneeling in front of him, hand on Arfer's shoulder, and the boy felt like a block of ice. His muscles were tense from the cold, his nose feeling ready to fall off.

"...up," Lese finished his sentence, his expression stern. Arty had no idea what he just said but a shiver wrecked his body and his teeth started clattering. His first instinct was to press himself against the guard, since the Bastard could feel the heat rolling off of him, but the rational part of his brain told him it was a stupid idea.

"Don't touch me," the boy knocked Lese's hand off of his shoulder with clumsy movements. The guard frowned and pulled away,

"Everyone's looking for you, idiot," he said, but he didn't sound angry, just worried, "You just disappeared suddenly. Vern had to wake Leo up and ask her where you went and that was  _hours_ ago, and- Gods your lips are blue, where is your  _cloak_? Why are you down here by yourself...wait, are you drunk?" Lese was like a mother hen, crowding into Arty's personal space and checking his pupils. Irritated and slightly more sober now - though not completely - the Bastard swatted him away,

"'m fine," he slurred, "I just took a nap."

"In a freezing cellar?" Lese raised an eyebrow, "This has to be one of your brightest ideas yet, big-ears."

"I told you not to call me that," Arty growled and aimed a weak punch at Lese's shoulder. The man just shook his head and stood up,

"Let's get you back upstairs to-" his voice died away abruptly when he turned to look at the door. Arfer had to squint to get his eyes to focus on them, and he wondered why he couldn't see the jar cellar when he realised that it was because the door was closed, "I left it open, I swear," Lese mumbled, more to himself than anyone as he strode to the door and tried to pry it open. Like a foolish jest, it remained jammed. Arfer laughed at the irony of the situation - the saviour locked in with the saved. He slumped against the barrels and shivered again, almost violently. Lese punched the door in frustration,

"Bravo," Arty said sarcastically, and started clapping slowly.

"Enough," Lese snapped, whirling on him, "Cvernia and Leo will come-"

"Maybe we'll freeze to death before," Arfer offered, amused.

"This isn't  _funny_ , Arfer," Lese hissed, "I have to be up on the battlements, checking the perimeter. I have to protect  _you,_ all of you, and I can't because I was too busy looking for you and your stupid big ears, and now I'm locked in here and it's  _your fault."_

"I didn't close the door did I?" Arfer asked drily. Lese's shoulders slumped and he pushed his hand through his messy black hair,

"You're hopeless," he whispered, he sounded...tired. He came and slumped down to the floor next to Arfer, leaning against the barrels and closing his eyes. Looking at his profile, his scruffy beard and sharp cheekbones, made Arfer feel bad for being rude to him - Lese was right. It was Arty's fault - what kind of fool went down to a bloody  _cellar_ in the night, by himself, drunk, and fell asleep there? Only Arty was capable of that. And maybe Halisen. Arfer bit his lip,

"Sorry," he murmured. Lese opened his eyes. They were so nice and green that Arty wanted to touch them, which was stupid because that would probably just make Lese shout at him. Arty was tired of all the shouting between them. They sat like that for a moment, just shoulder to shoulder, not speaking. Slowly Arty was sobering up, but he still felt alien in his own body. He half wanted to throw up his dinner, and half start giggling uncontrollably. All he ended up doing was shivering. 

"Did I mention you're a fool?" Lese asked with an exasperated sigh as he slipped his cloak off. Beneath it he wore a chain mail shirt. He held the cloak out to Arfer, who made a sour face,

"Many times, thank you for that," he turned away and ignored how freezing he was, "I don't want your dirty cloak."

"Don't make this harder than it already is," Lese said, and when Arfer didn't reply, the man forcefully wrapped the cloak around him. The Bastard tried to weakly push him away but the cloak was warm where it draped around his cold shoulders, and Lese's hands were warmer still, "I wish you weren't this stubborn."

"I wish you weren't this irritating," Arfer snapped back. Lese pulled away to lean against the barrels again and Arty almost grabbed his hands back. Instead he made a grumpy face and bundled himself up in the cloak more, pulling it over his head and hiding his ears, which seemed to forever offend Lese. They sat in silence as Arty tried to stop his head from spinning, but the silence was comfortable. Lese was staring intently at the door as if expecting it to burst open any moment.

It didn't. 

Arfer must've dozen off again, and when he woke up he was confused, his brain even more muddled than before. He was pressed up against Lese's side, which immediately made him blush, but although the man wasn't holding him, he wasn't pushing him away either. Arfer straightened up immediately, and his stomach protested. He groaned and Lese's mouth twitched into a smile,

"I need water," Arty moaned, feeling as if someone was hammering at his brain, making his head throb. Lese looked sympathetic, and tired too, "How long was I asleep?"

"An hour, maybe a bit longer," Lese said, "Nobody's come."

"Aye, obviously, otherwise we wouldn't still be here," Arfer snapped, the headache putting him in a bad mood. He wondered what time it was, if everyone was asleep upstairs. Knowing the other Bastards they had probably gone to bed thinking that Lese found Arty, and that they were having steamy sex somewhere in the cellar. Arfer wasn't completely opposed to the idea, but at that moment he was cursing each and every Bastard in the dorm-room for leaving him down in this freezing cellar with his (albeit attractive) arch-nemesis. 

As if he wasn't scared for their lives, Lese calmly took out his pipe from his pocket. Arfer watched him with no expression as the guard filled the tube with cael leaves, and then lit it with a match. _Really?_ Arfer thought sourly,  _You're getting high now?!_ Lese's eyes met his,

"Want some?" he asked. Arfer turned away, nose in the air,

"No way in seven hells."

"Suit yourself," Lese shrugged. He had dropped the always-alert-guard facade when he realised that they'd probably be stuck down here until morning, and now Arfer got to see a more relaxed version of him. Maybe that was thanks to the cael leaves, but as Lese smoked he seemed more and more at ease. As the small room filled with smoke, which Arty unwillingly inhaled, the man undid the first two buttons on his shirt. By the time Arfer's head was spinning from the leaves, Lese's hair was perfectly mussed, and his eyes were droopy. 

"Sorry," the man said, and his voice was hoarser than usual, "Do you mind?"

"You're been smoking for an hour," Arfer pointed out, and his words were slurred. His previous intoxication mixed with the smoke wasn't helping his state, and the boy was starting to feel increasingly warmer, Lese's cloak slipped from his shoulders and pooled around his elbows. Lese seemed like the most interesting thing in the world, and Arfer just kind of stared at him. He felt weirdly nervous, his emotions were all in a jumble and threatening to spill out, and he'd hate to ruin everything by telling Lese about all of the confusing things he felt about him. 

"Here, come here," Lese looked hazy because of the smoke curling around the room, or it could've just been Arty's eyes giving up on him, but either way he didn't hesitate as he scooted closer to the guard. Lese grabbed Arty by the back of his head, his fingers tangling in his feathery hair. His hand felt big and warm and heavy. He stared at Arty and for the longest time the boy held his breath, and he thought Lese would kiss him. He  _wanted_ Lese to kiss him. That kiss in the lake when they were children wasn't the real thing anyway, because Arty was afraid of scaring Lese away if he kissed him properly. And right now he was scared too. But Lese didn't kiss him. Instead he took another puff of his pipe and then leaned in so close that Arfer could feel his breath across his lips when he exhaled the smoke into his open mouth. For a second it was so intense and intimate that Arfer's head spun and he thought he'd pass out...and then he started coughing, ruining the moment. 

He pulled away from Lese as his lungs burned furiously, his eyes watering, his body wrecked with coughs. Lese was grinning at him fondly, as if he expected the reaction and Arty glared at him, wheezing for breath,

"You  _asshole,_ " he growled, and then coughed again,

"Sorry, big-ears," he said affectionately, and Arty didn't have it in himself to get angry at the nickname, not when Lese said it in that soft way that made Arfer's heart skip a beat. The door creaked open then and Arfer jumped because he hadn't expected it to. Varr Padrilon coughed violently on the other side, and then hastily covered his mouth as the smoke surged from the wine-room to fan out in the rest of the cellar.

"We're saved!" Arfer exclaimed joyfully, and started giggling. Lese just grinned dopily as Varr swept into the room,

"We were looking all over for you!" he said, making a sour face at the smoke wafting around, "Are those cael leaves? Lese you know those are illegal - no matter though, everyone was worried sick! Get the hell out of here, both of you," the man was shaking his head in irritation, but he didn't look angry. But again, with Varr you never really knew - he had a very good mask, "Lese if you're not too high and can still function properly I want you to stay in the dorm-room with the others."

"Yes boss," Lese saluted Varr, dead serious, and Arfer doubled over laughing. He didn't even know why he found everything so funny, but he was happy, and dizzy and lightheaded, and it was beautiful because Lese laughed with him too. Varr just shook his head and both Lese and Arty stumbled out of the cellar. Everything was spinning pleasantly, and had a soft edge to it. Arty and Lese giggled as they wobbled up the stairs, leaning against each other or playfully pushing each other into walls. The rooms were all dark, indicating that the clients were asleep and Lese shushed Arfer which just made them giggle more and start whispering.

When they spilled through the smoke door into the dorm-room, they saw that all the Bastards were awake, sitting nervously on their beds and clearly waiting for the lost to return. Except Risja, she, as always, was passed out under her blankets like a stone. The second the two boys came in, laughing, the Bastards rushed to them.

"Are you crazy?!" Vern demanded, gripping Arfer's wrists, "I told you to not go anywhere and then you go off and get lost for half the night!"

"I was waiting for my wine, Arty, I was  _waiting,_ " Leophinia was teary-eyed. 

"Did you guys  _fuck_?" Halisen wrinkled his nose, taking in Arty's and Lese's crumpled state. 

"I swear to Gods, I searched that damn cellar twice!" Wilawil stated heatedly, " _Twice!_ "

"I'm confused," Chardwen put in, looking sleepy as if he just woke up.

"We really were worried," Thomar mumbled quietly, the tips of his ears red. Danfrea didn't say anything, just threw herself at the two boys, hugging them fiercely. Arfer clung onto her as his world spun, and Lese wrapped an arm around her. The anger melted off Vern's face and Leo forgot her disappointment as she grinned, joining the hug. Lese chuckled and Leo opened her arms. Cvernia rolled her eyes fondly, and hugged them too, pulling a disgruntled Will along. Chardwen enveloped all of them like an overexcited puppy and he stretched out one of his arms so Hal could slip underneath and join them too. Thomar, who had only been at the Tower a week and some days, looked awkward and uncomfortable, so Arfer wriggled one of his hands free (which took a lot of coordination he was lacking) and pulled him in. The elf pressed himself against Arty and the boy smiled and then Lese slipped an arm around his waist. Arty turned around, his eyes big, and Lese was just as close as when they were smoking. Arfer's head spun and he opened his mouth to say something. Lese just pressed their foreheads together and Arty's stomach clenched at the small gesture. Then the hug broke apart, everyone stretching and yawning and complaining about how late it was as they fanned out across the room.

Lese sat down on the floor and leaned against the wall, eyes closed. He looked tired, but he wasn't allowed to sleep, at least now yet. Arfer felt bad for him and he bit his lip as everyone climbed into their beds. Everything was fuzzy and Arty was so exhausted he thought he might actually sleep for once. Lese opened his eyes and looked up at him and Arty realised he was just standing there in front of him. 

"Go to sleep, Arty!" Halisen yelled from his bed, annoyed. Arfer swallowed nervously and then slipped Lese's cloak from his shoulders, offering it to its owner, arm extended all the way out as to not touch the guard by accident. Lese just shook his head,

"Keep it," he mumbled hoarsely. Arfer felt like he was at a crossroads. The night was so bizarre, and Arfer's emotions were so messed up...he wanted to do what he wanted to for ages - to kiss Lese, and blame it on the leaves if the man rejected him. But the room was full of Bastards, and Arty couldn't. He just couldn't. So he just gripped the cloak in his hands and went to his bed. He threw the blanket over himself, all the way up to his ears, and pressed his face against the cloak. It smelled like Lese. Arty was wrong - he couldn't sleep that night, so he just laid awake, clinging onto Lese's cloak, listening to its owner breathing softly in the corner.

 


	9. The Matter of Circumstances

** **

**-THOMAR-**

Thom felt like he had been underwater for too long – his head was spinning, he couldn’t seem to breathe. His head was buried in Varr’s muscular shoulder because that’s where the Elf felt the safest as he gripped at the man’s shirt, biting his lip to stop the whimpery noises building up in his throat. He was sitting on Varr’s lap, straddling him as the man’s hand slid up and down his cock, trapped between them. Thomar couldn’t even remember how they got there in the first place.

Thomar had been at the Tower for over a week and he was more and more desperately realising that the deadline for his virginity auction was closer and closer. He should’ve run away ages ago, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to. Despite everything, the Bastards were lovely and kind...and Varr was something different entirely, and Thom didn’t know if he wanted to leave him.

They kissed in dark corners, and in empty rooms in the middle of the night and as Thom grew more comfortable and relaxed, Varr’s mouth started to slide lower each meeting. And now they were here, in one of the rooms, the blankets kicked to the foot of the bed as Varr slowly brought Thomar closer and closer to release. The boy tried to keep up with all of the Shapeshifter’s movements and techniques, but with each passing moment it became harder and harder. Thom’s body was flushed and hot, his stomach all in knots, his thighs trembling with every twist of Varr’s hand. He had abandoned trying to control himself some time ago, when Varr saw him squeezing his eyes shut, hands resting in fists on the man’s shoulders.

“It’s alright,” he had said softly, and Thom had whined and pressed himself against him. Now, with his face in the man’s neck, unable to think straight, Thomar started to wonder how in seven hells he’d be able to ever do anything even remotely sexual with someone who wasn’t Varr. His hands were rough but gentle whenever he touched Thomar, ready to withdraw if the Elf showed even the smallest sign of discomfort. He kissed with passion that made Thom’s breath catch in his throat, and-

Thomar cried out suddenly as his stomach clenched and ropes of pearly come splattered across Varr’s stomach. He remained gasping against the man’s shoulder and Varr just let him, one of his hands stroking the Elf’s lower back as the boy tried to catch his breath.

“That was good,” Varr said gently.

“I...,” Thom’s throat felt dry, “I’m afraid...I’m not a-a very good student,” he pushed away from Varr and looked at the man. It had become easier over the last few days, since at the beginning Thom was too embarrassed to do so. Now Varr’s warm brown eyes comforted him, seemingly conveying things Varr didn’t say out loud.

“No, you’re a good student,” Varr murmured, even allowing himself a small smile. He brushed Varr’s sweaty hair from his forehead and the Elf’s eyes fluttered shut. He wished it could just be like that – him and Varr slowly exploring each other’s bodies, and not getting him ready to be used over and over by strangers for money. Remembering that made Thom want to cry – no matter how much Varr prepared him, there was no way in seven hells selling his body would be any less painful and humiliating.

Varr looked like he wanted to say something, but he stopped himself and gently nudged Thomar off of him. The second the boy was away from him, he felt cold. Thom pulled on his shirt and breeches silently, feeling hollow, lacing himself up as Varr straightened up the blankets on the bed,

“Tomorrow?” Thomar asked softly as Varr started towards the door. The Shapeshifter hesitated and Thom’s heart skipped a beat.

“I...,” he cleared his throat, “Perhaps it’s best if we end this...business. There’s little more I can teach you about, and it would be dangerous for me to...despoil you,” Varr winced at the word but continued, “There are only two days until the auction, I think you should rest-“

“I thought we’d go all the way,” Thomar blurted, and flushed immediately. He hadn’t meant to say it but it was true – somewhere at the back of his head he hoped that Varr would be his first, because Varr was kind and gentle, and he seemed to actually care about Thom. And now the Shapeshifter was turning out to be just like the others – he just saw Thomar as another whore, and that hurt, “Nevermind,” the Elf said hastily when all Varr offered him was a guilty look. The boy tried to hide his discomfort, “I understand.”

*** 

You'd think with the threat of the Killingard it would be harder to sneak out of the Tower, but that wasn't the case. Lenmax, Lese and Helmchet were the only security so when Thomar, armed in a backpack of stolen provisions and some spare clothes, walked up to the gate in the late afternoon, nobody tried to stop him. He ignored the pounding in his chest as he slipped outside into the forest, blanketed in thick snow. Unlike his first and second attempts of escape, this time Thom wasn't lost or unprepared. He had a map and food, and knew the way to the town. From there he'd take the Crow Road up to the city and then board a ship. By dawn he'd be far off on the Lazure Sea, on his way to becoming a monk in the free city of Faluea faraway from the threat of becoming a prostitute.

Of course he'd miss having a warm bed and a full belly, and Thom wasn't the most pious of men but it was better than begging on the streets. As he trudged through the thick snow enveloping the forest, he reminisced about all he was leaving behind. Varr was the most important of course, and even though the two had only know each other for a week and some, Thomar couldn't help but believe that Varr was the kindest person he knew. Not only that, but he awakened desires in Thomar that he didn't think he had. The servants who raised Thom told him that sex was a sin, that it was dirty and disgusting, and seeing all the brothels spread across the countries like mushrooms only enforced that idea. But doing things with Varr didn't seem sinful or vulgar. Every touch, every kiss, was intimate, intense, warm. None of it was forced or painful or anything that Thom was told it would be. And now that the boy was taking up the life of celibacy, he wanted to keep his sexual encounters with Varr the only ones he had. Because he doubted he'd ever get better.

It was sad to think that in different circumstances, Thomar could've fallen in love with Varr.

 _Don't dwell on that,_ the boy told himself angrily as pushed on. His face and fingers were cold, the only parts of his body exposed, but he didn't care too much. There were deep tracks in the snow behind him but Thom's plan depended on speed not stealth. It would be hours before anybody even realised he was gone, and then they'd just probably think that he got locked in somewhere like Arfer and Lese. If anything, a search party would come out late at night, or perhaps even in the morning. By then Thom would be far, far away. 

The boy's body went numb, as did his brain, after some time of brainless walking. All the trees seemed the same, snow falling from the canopies overhead whenever a bird took flight. The sun was steadily sinking but when Thomar finally saw the first houses of the town the sky was still a pretty pink. The town was a lot different from the last time Thomar saw it - he streets were deserted, the doors and windows all shut. A stray, thin dog was dragging himself down a street, but that was the only sign of life Thom saw.  _They're afraid of the Killingard,_ Thom thought as he walked through the snow-filled streets. Most of the residents of the town were Nurturers, and up until this point Thomar hadn't realised that they were affected by the appearance of the extremist group. 

For a while he was lost. He needed someone to point him down to where he could find the by-the-sea city, but there was nobody to ask and Thom didn't know these parts. More than ever, Thomar wished his father were there, but their home was somewhere across the kingdom, too far to reach. Besides, Thom had no security that his father wouldn't just sell him again. When the shadows on the streets grew too deep and a chill settled in Thomar's bones, he turned to the only place he knew - the street with all the brothels.

There was life there, Thomar was glad to see, thought not as much as when he first came here with Varr, almost two weeks ago. Some of the brothels were boarded up but as night settled more and more people spilled onto the streets, drunk and in need of cheap fun. Before anybody molested him, the Elf ducked into the Veiled Lady, which weirdly felt like sanctuary. He never thought he'd think of it as that. He had wanted to continue walking through the night to make it to port by morning but now that he found himself back in the dim, smoky interior he realised how hungry and exhausted he was. He didn't have any money, but perhaps Ormsama would allow him to sleep in the stables...

" _Thomar_ ," the heavily accent made the Elf whirled around and he couldn't keep the tired smile off of his face when he saw the owner of the voice - Moet. She had been dancing for a small group of thin men but abandoned them when she saw the boy, now coming up to him and enveloping him in her heavily perfumed arms. He took the touch with gratitude, leaning on her heavily. He hadn't realised he was so afraid until he was with someone he knew - there were the guards from the Tower, maybe already coming after him, and the Killingard, and people who wished to harm him.

"Where's your friend?" Moet asked with a dimpled smile. Thomar's stomach twisted at the reminder of Varr. 

"He's...," he swallowed nervously, "He's not here."

Moet's smile fell a bit, "Who you watch then?" she asked, confused, and Thom flushed,

"Nobody. I'm...going away, Moet," he said softly, "Just not yet. I need some food, and a bed, but I have no coin-"

The girl shook her head fiercely, dark hair falling into her eyes, "Nay, I feed you."

She took his pale hand in her dark one and lead the thankful boy through a curtain into the back. He was surprised to see there was a small kitchen space round the back, a cosy room not as smoky as the rest of the brothel. There was a hearth in the corner which warmed Thom and made his face tingle. He slipped off his cloak, scarf and leather gloves and sat down on the thick carpet, in front of a low oak table. Moet bustled around, clearly glad to be doing something with a purpose. She put down a small floral kettle in front of Thom with weird porcelain cups with no handles. When Thom drank some of the tea he found that it was just as exotic and warm as the rest of the Veiled Lady. 

Moet found some food for him; half a loaf of bread, some greens, an apple, and even a slice of cold beef. After eating all of that, Thom felt stuffed and happy, and sluggish. He wanted to curl up in front of the fireplace and fall asleep, but he was afraid of being caught. And he couldn't exactly tell Moet that, she probably wouldn't understand it anyway. Right now she was blissfully sitting next to Thom, pouring herself tea.

"Thank you," Thomar said softly. She just smiled at him and didn't say anything. He cleared his throat after a moment, "I should-"

"You should rest," Moet didn't look up from her tea as she interrupted him, "Room upstairs. Warm bed, rest. You go tomorrow morning," she looked at his bag, "Wherever it is you going."

Thomar exhaled. He wanted to argue, he wanted to go  _now,_ but it was too dangerous. The country was unsettled, brimming with anger and resentment towards the monarchy. The Freedom Decree was being resigned tomorrow night, and whatever the outcome it would be a foolish idea to travel by night for the next few months.

"Thank you," Thomar said again, putting his cup down. Moet did the same and then rose, her bracelets clinking softly, the flowy material of her clothes sweeping the carpet,

"Come," she said, offering Thom a hand. As he took it he decided that Moet was the most peculiar, wonderful person he ever met. She led him back into the front room, now filled with blurry men who had equally-blurry prostitutes in their laps, and then up the rickety stairs to the second floor were loud moans echoed from behind closed doors. Instead of taking him to one of the rooms, or even to that closet space that last time Thom had... (he couldn't even remind himself of what he saw because it brought a flush to his cheeks) she went to the end of the dark corridor and pulled on a piece of rope hanging from the ceiling. A panel opened overhead, and a rope ladder spilled out. Moet smiled encouragingly at Thom when he sent her a confused look, and so the boy climbed. The attic was split into a few rooms, all small and barely fitting two or three beds, complete opposites to the dorm room at the Tower. The whore Thom recognised as Gais slipped out of one of the rooms, and without as much as a second glance at Thom slid down the ladder and padded downstairs. 

Moet opened one of the doors, revealing the smallest room of all with only one bed. A small window showed the lights of the town sparkling just outside, and the dark sky prickled with stars.

"For guests," Moet explained, and went to light the half-used candle on the windowsill. Thom stopped her,

"It's alright, I like it dark," he admitted. She nodded and moved back to the door,

"You sleep now. I come later," she told him, a bit like an older sister and with a pang Thomar thought about Cvernia and how much she'd probably be worried about him.  _Don't dwell..._

"Thank you," Thom said awkwardly, because he didn't know what else to say, and Moet closed the door, leaving him alone in the dark. The lights outside just gave the chamber enough light so Thomar could see the bed. He slipped off his boots, and after a second thought let his breeches join them on the floor, leaving him just in his shirt and undergarments. Exhaustion hit the boy so suddenly he slumped against the wall. He decided there was no point trying to stay awake, or wondering what would happen next, so he threw aside the lavender-smelling blankets and crawled beneath them. They were warm and surprisingly soft and the second Thom's head hit the pillow he was out like a light. He dreamt of the wolf in the clearing.

***

When Thomar woke up he immediately knew that he hadn't gotten enough sleep. His eyelids felt heavy, his mind still half asleep. He was sleeping so close to the wall his nose was brushing against it. For a moment Thom couldn't place why he woke up - everything was quiet, it must've been late enough that the sex downstairs had stopped. Apart from some faint drunk singing from outside there was nothing loud enough to wake him. And then he realised it was bright enough he could see the wall - someone had lit a candle. That same someone was gently stroking his hair. 

Clumsily and slowly, still half asleep, Thom turned around in bed to assure Moet that it was alright and that she could go to sleep. But it wasn't Moet sitting next to him on the bed. 

"Thomar," Varr said softly. Thom's stomach plummeted to the ground as he sat up abruptly, flinching away from Varr's touch, his back hitting the wall. 

"What are you doing here?" he asked breathlessly.  _You fool!_ he scolded himself mentally,  _You should've run when you had the choice! Now he's here he'll drag you back to the tower and tomorrow..._ he felt sick. 

"I thought the Killingard took you," pain flashed in Varr's eyes, as if he actually  _cared,_ as if he wasn't about to sell Thom's body to a stranger. He sat there, his broad shoulders slumped, looking defeated. Thom couldn't be angry with him. 

"Please just let me go," he said in a small voice, feeling panic rise in his chest. This was it - this was his final chance to escape his fate, and he ruined it. No matter how kind and gentle Varr was he was still part of the scheme to let Thom get raped for money. Varr looked helpless, he opened and closed his mouth as if he couldn't find the words. Thomar had never seen him look like such a wreck - usually he had an emotionless mask in place, even when he was in bed with Thom, but now it was slipping and Thom could see the desperation and worry in his eyes. 

"I can't," Varr sounded hoarse, "Gods, Thom I can't let you go."

In any other circumstances Thom would've melted at those words, but this time they just made tears spring to his eyes. Thom didn't want to cry, but there wasn't much else he could do at this point. If he tried to fight Varr the bigger man would easily overpower him and drag him through the snow to the tower. 

"How did you know I was here?" Thomar asked, trying to fight the tears. 

"Moet found me," Varr murmured, and Thom closed his eyes. He felt betrayed. Moet had been like a lighthouse in a storm, and now even she turned against him. Thomar's hands tightened in the blankets and he couldn't stop the sniffle that left him. He felt Varr shift and when he opened his eyes the man was hesitantly reaching out to him. Thom flinched,

"Don't touch me," his voice cracked. Varr dropped his hand guiltily. 

"Why did you run, Thom?" he asked softly, "You promised you wouldn't, you...," Varr took a deep breath, as if to steady himself. Thom hated that even when he despised the man so, so much, he still wanted to climb into his arms and cling onto him, "What are you so afraid of?"

"Do you even know what's going to happen to me?" Thom asked faintly and Varr looked away guiltily. He knew, but Thom decided to remind him just in case, "Tomorrow night some  _man_ is going to have sex with me, a-and it's going to hurt and he's going to force me to do it against m-my will-"

"Stop," Varr whispered, eyes squeezed shut as if he couldn't bear it, "Please stop."

"Please don't make me go back," Thom chocked on a sob, "I'm  _scared_ , Varr, I'm so scared-"

Varr grabbed him by the wrist faster than Thom could react, and then he was being pulled into the man's arms. Thom wanted to fight back, he wanted to show Varr that he had no power over him, but when the man's arms wrapped around Thom, he couldn't do any more than slump against him and sob against his shoulder. His head was spinning, his body hurt, he was exhausted and scared and near-hysterical, and Varr just held him tightly, as if scared to let him go. Thom didn't want to be raped by a stranger and then get told that it was his job. 

"It's alright, Tommy," Varr murmured shakily, "it will be alright, I promise. Gods, don't cry, don't cry," his voice was barely a whisper as he rubbed circles into Thom's back. Thomar didn't want to, but he felt comforted. He slowly relaxed against Varr, someone who was going to take him back to the Tower, but at the same time someone who'd never hurt him. In a world where virtually everyone wanted to bring him harm, Thom was glad about that. 

When he finally stopped crying he pulled away from Varr and stood up. He picked up his boots from the floor and sniffled,

"We should go back," he said hollowly. There was no point trying to fight. The boy hastily reached for his breeches, but Varr came up behind him and wrapped his arms around his waist, making the Elf tense with surprise.

"What is it?" he asked quietly. Varr pressed a gentle kiss to the back of Thom's neck, and it made the boy's heart skip a beat. 

"Let me do it," Varr said quietly, his breath brushing against Thom's neck and making him shiver, "Let me be your first. I'll be gentle, I promise, I just can't...I don't...I can't bear them hurting you." He sounded broken, and yet Thomar was relieved. He turned around in the man's arms, dropping the clothes he just picked up, and before he could even say anything, Varr kissed him. His lips were warm and hesitant, as always, giving Thom time to back out if he wanted to. He didn't want to though. 

Varr got them onto the bed, gently pressing Thom into the pillows, and pulling the blanket over them. Thom was surprised to find that he wasn't scared, just a bit nervous and excited. Varr kissed him until all the tension left his body. It was slow at first, the kind of kiss that made Thom's heart speed up, and his insides turn to mush. But then Varr turned desperate and the kiss became bruising, making it hard for Thom to breathe in the best way. Their tongues tangled together and Varr cupped Thom's face to make sure the boy didn't pull away. The Elf was getting light headed but he didn't care as heat travelled south, making his underwear grow tighter.

When Thom thought he'd pass out he forcefully pulled away, though Varr only allowed him an inch away, something that the Elf didn't mind. He tried to breathe properly, his and Varr's breaths mixing together. Varr stroked Thom's cheekbone staring down at him with dark, intense eyes that made Thom shiver with anticipation. The man brushed their noses together softly when Thomar was breathing properly again and the boy leaned up slightly to slot their lips together again. Varr grabbed Thom by the waist and pulled him down the bed slightly, not letting their mouths part, and then he pressed their hips together. Thom gasped when he felt their erections brush against each other, and Varr just bit at his lower lip. They've done it before, but it still made Thom shudder every-time their cocks pressed together, hitching one of his legs around Varr's waist. The man ran his hand down his outer thigh gently, teasing. 

"You scared me, you know," Varr whispered as he suddenly pulled away from Thom's lips to kiss down his neck. The boy felt slightly guilty, and a lot aroused so he barely paid attention to the words, "I thought you were hurt, that someone kidnapped you," Varr pushed Thom's shirt to the side and bit at the boy's collarbone roughly, making Thom's breath hitch.

"I didn't t-think you'd c-care," Thom stuttered. Varr sat up abruptly, his eyes serious and angry. His mask was completely gone.

"How could you think that?" he demanded quietly. Thomar just looked up at him helplessly. He didn't dare open his mouth, scared he might say something foolish. Like _I love you_. Varr shook his head and then leaned back down to undo the buttons on Thom's shirt and kiss the skin that was exposed. It was slow and soft but somehow Varr still managed to leave a trail of fire down Thom's body, and the boy couldn't keep from squirming when he finally reached his underwear.

"I'll stop," Varr murmured against the Elf's hipbone, something Thom  _really_ didn't want to hear right now, "At any point. If you want to slow down, or stop, or anything, just tell me, alright?" he kissed Thom's navel, "Alright?" 

"Y-Yes," Thom said shakily. Varr hooked his fingers into the underwear and pulled it off swiftly, leaving Thom to blush and cross his legs.

"Come on now," Varr said, amused, because Thom did it every time they did anything. He kissed the boy's hip and slowly Thom uncrossed his legs, embarrassed, revealing his hard cock. The second he could, Varr had it in his mouth. Thom cried out since Varr hadn't given him a warning, his head falling back against the pillows. The room seemed unsteady as Varr bobbed his head up and down, setting a fast pace. The pleasure that suddenly surged through Thom was enough to make him almost pass out. His thighs were trembling and he tried to stop himself from moaning but it was impossible, Varr's mouth was too hot and wet, making heat coil inside Thom's stomach at an alarming speed. He wanted to just let Varr bring him over the edge with his mouth, his wonderful mouth, but that wasn't the point. The boy tried to say  _stop,_ but instead just a moan spilled out so he tugged on Varr's hair instead. The man let Thom's dick out of his mouth with a loud  _pop,_ and surged up to kiss him, the Elf's salty precum still on his lips. 

"You're beautiful, you know," Varr murmured, his hands slipping back to Thom's waist, pressing gentle kisses up Thom's jaw. The Elf tugged him back up for another heated kiss, because he didn't know how else to react, and jolted when Varr reached beneath him and gripped his ass in his hands. He mewled against the man's mouth when his big hands kneaded his globes,"I'm going to do something, alright?" Varr murmured against his lips, "just tell me if you want me to stop."

Thomar didn't want him to stop, seemingly ever. As Varr slid back down his body Thom realised he never wanted anybody else's hands on him, just Varr's, and it brought a sting of tears to his eyes when he realised that this was their only and last time having sex, and that tomorrow Thom would be allowed to get fucked by anyone and everyone,  _except_ Varr. Thomar wanted to sob, but then suddenly Varr threw his legs over his shoulders and dived down underneath them, and the next thing Thom knew was that Varr's hot, wet tongue was licking a wet strip across his hole. 

The Elf cried out at the sudden jolt that went through him, and shuddered almost violently, his hand coming up to slap over his mouth. 

"O-Oh Gods," he whimpered, and Varr must've taken that as encouragement, because he wriggled his tongue inside of Thom. A shock went through the Elf and he moaned against his palm, heat spread through him rapidly, his stomach twisting at the sudden onslaught of pleasure. His toes curled and he couldn't do much more than melt against the pillows as Varr licked and bit at his hole hungrily, leaving Varr incoherent. Thomar's dick throbbed against his stomach as the pleasure built up. He didn't think it would ever be possible to come from something else than someone touching his cock, and yet now as he felt the wet warmth inside him he felt like he'd pass out, his climax approaching fast. 

"I-I'm going to c-come," he sobbed, his hands tangling in Varr's hair, "But I don't want y-you to stop  _ah, fuck..._ d-don't stop, Gods, p-please-"

Varr ignored his protests and pulled away, leaving Thom empty and whimpering. 

"Shhh, baby," Varr kissed him hastily, "It's alright, I'll give you something better, I promise."

Thomar felt too intoxicated to argue, so he just lay limp on the blankets, letting Varr stroke his hair as they waited for the Elf to calm down a bit. Varr was kissing the boy all over, his cheeks, forehead, nose, following his jawline, down his neck, his shoulders. His kisses were tender, soft, and they made Thom feel dizzy. After a while Varr's hand started to wander back down Thom's body again,

"Wrap your legs around my waist," the man breathed against Thomar's temple, and the boy didn't hesitate to follow his instructions. Varr reached forward, causing his clothed cock to push against Thom's hole, making the boy let out a strangled noise. Varr inhaled sharply and froze for a second before retrieving a bottle of oil he was reaching for. When he coated his fingers in the substance, Thom saw his hands were trembling. 

"Varr-" Thom started, but the man silenced him with a kiss,

"Shh, it's alright Tommy," he whispered, almost desperately, "Let me take care of you."

His fingers brushed against Thom's slick entrance and the boy's eyes widened. Varr was watching him intently, searching his face for any signs of pain. He brushed his fingers over the hole a few times, and with each touch Thom tensed, swallowing nervously. He wasn't scared, but...nervously curious. When Varr finally pushed on finger inside him Thomar gasped, mouth falling open. Varr sunk his finger into him, and it burned, like seven hells, but it didn't hurt. It just felt weird - Thom could feel every knuckle, every inch, and it made him reach up and pull Varr down to crash their lips together, so he could mewl helplessly into the man's mouth. Varr fucked his mouth with his tongue messily and with each passing second the burn eased into pleasure, making it hard for Thomar to breathe. He world was spinning and Varr slowly withdrew the digit, only to push it back in, accompanied by a squelching sound. 

"You alright?" Varr asked, worried and breathless. Thom couldn't speak so he just squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. Varr's free hand was on his hip, holding him steady as he fucked him slowly with his finger. The oil made it slippery and it slid into Thom easily. When Varr added a second finger, Thom was panting. The second finger wasn't such a shock, and intensified the pleasure Thom was already feeling, causing the Elf to grind down onto the digits. Varr was alternating between looking at Thom's face and down at his fingers with his dark, hungry eyes, as if he couldn't decide what looked better. 

"S-Stop staring at me," Thomar whimpered, feeling his cheeks burn. 

"Sorry, that's the one thing I can't stop doing," Varr smiled and kissed the inside of Thom's thigh. Thom's hands curled into the blanket as Varr added a third finger. The burn was back but by then Thomar was drunk on pleasure, and he didn't care. Varr thrust harder, which Thom liked. And then his fingers curled and they hit a spot that made Thom's whole body tense, a noise between a whimper and a sob coming from his throat. Varr's fingers stilled,

"W-What the...," there were tears in Thom's eyes, and he didn't know when they had got there. He gasped for breath, his body shivering, looking at Varr hopeless, "W-What was that?"

Varr didn't reply, just hit that spot again, watching Thom's face. The boy writhed, his hips stuttering as he cried out Varr's name. The man didn't stop as he continued to thrust his fingers inside the boy, 

"O-Oh Gods," Thom's world was spinning, "V-Varr, Varr, n-no...stop, Gods, I-I'm close, I'm close," he closed his eyes and tried to control his body but he couldn't, Varr had complete control over him, making it impossible for the Elf to even breathe. And yet still, somehow, Varr managed to withdraw his fingers, right when Thomar was about to climax. The boy whined again, feeling like he was left gaping open. He reached blindly for Varr, "N-No, put t-them back in, p-please,  _please,_ I'll do anything-" he knew he was blabbering, but his brain had short circuited and he didn't know what was happening anymore.

"You just told me to stop," Varr said, his voice low and raspy. Thomar wanted to cry, but instead he just laid helplessly against the blankets, trying to catch his breath, "Are you sure you want this?" Varr asked carefully. Thom stared up at him pleadingly, trying to find his voice, "Please tell me you do," Varr looked desperate, "Gods, I want you so badly, Tommy," he leaned down and kissed the boy again, hopelessly sweet and gentle. Thom clung onto him,

"Yes," he whispered, "Do it."

Varr hitched the boy's legs up and Thomar wrapped them around his waist. He was certain that at this point he'd let Varr do anything he wanted to him, as long as the man continued to touch him. Varr unlaced his breeches hurriedly, and for Thom it was weird to see him like this - lips swollen, hair messed up. He wasn't the cold, controlled man from the tower anymore, and he looked so much younger now somehow. When he reached for the oil again, Thomar tensed. Varr noticed - of course he goddamn noticed.

"Hey," he kissed Thom's forehead, "Just tell me if-"

"I want you to stop, yes I know," Thomar interrupted impatiently, "Just...," he swallowed, "Just do it."

Varr positioned himself, and just looked at Thom for a second. He caressed the boy's cheek, and then pushed in just an inch. Thomar inhaled sharply, feeling the burn and the stretch, which already seemed more than the fingers. The candle was burning low, the room practically all dark. Wax dripped from the windowsill and Varr continued to push in. Thomar gritted his teeth and tried to take it, but then it started to  _hurt,_ and his stomach twisted.

" _Varr,_ " he whimpered in pain and the man froze immediately, 

"Fuck, fuck, are you alright?" he demanded. Thom nodded and reached up to cup the man's cheek.

"Just...j-just give me a moment," he asked quietly. Varr just nodded, and turned to kiss Varr's palm as the boy tried to catch his breath. Thomar wanted Varr to pull out, it just felt so invasive, and painful...but he didn't do that in the end. With each breath the boy got more and more used to the feeling. It burned, but it didn't hurt as much anymore, though it still felt far away from good. Thom had no idea why people did this, but then he realised that Varr probably liked it. 

"How is it?" he asked quietly. Varr looked down at him and then closed his eyes,

"Gods, you feel amazing," he admitted hoarsely, "It's taking every inch of my willpower not to slam into you right now."

Despite everything, that sent a shiver of pleasure through Thom, "You can go on," he mumbled. because he felt the intense need to make Varr feel good too. The man leaned down to kiss him, open mouth and sloppy, sinking further into Thom. It hurt again, and the pain just grew with every inch but Varr swallowed each of Thom's whimpers. Thomar felt when Varr's hips pressed against his backside, and he exhaled, knowing he was in all the way. Varr pressed his face against Thom's neck and let out a low moan, biting at the skin. The pain started to ebb away and Thom tried to concentrate on breathing while Varr panted against his neck. 

They seemed to stay like that for eternity, and only Varr's warm body pressed against Thom's stopped him from going completely flaccid. He kept the man close, playing with his hair as the pain withdrew. When he finally felt as comfortable as he suspected he'd get, he murmured 'move' to Varr. The man didn't need to be told twice as he drew back. His hair was falling into his eyes, and he gripped Thom's hips before pulling out halfway, only to slowly push back in. Thomar gasped at the weird sensation, and Varr repeated the motion, slow and gentle. The discomfort was disappearing, and Thom felt some of the pleasure again. Oil spurted out of his hole as Varr continued to thrust slowly, his face full of pleasure. 

"Does it hurt?" Varr asked. 

"No- _ah!_ " the word ended with a startled moan when Varr thrust in sharply. Thomar's body was starting to heat up, his cock growing hard again. The pleasure was back, and it just continued to grow past what he felt with Varr's tongue and fingers. Thom tried to keep quiet but it was hard. Everything was hazy and his body was brimming with pleasure, and then Varr's cock merely  _brushed_ against that special spot inside Thomar, and everything just feel apart.

" _Varr!_ " Thom's back arched off of the bed as his stomach clenched. Varr hit the spot again, this time full on, and Thom lost all control over his body. The pleasure was quickly becoming too much, everything he felt before was a hundred times bigger and stronger and more pleasurable. Varr's thrusts quickly became hard and fast, rocking into Thomar who was gasping and writhing against the blankets, feeling drunk again. Varr set a surprisingly bruising rhythm, but Thom didn't care. It felt amazing,

"Tommy," Varr groaned kissing his neck roughly, "Gods, you're so perfect."

Fire pooled in Thomar's abdomen, he was so dazed that he could barely think straight. He pulled Varr in close so their lips were barely brushing together, "P-Please don't stop," he whimpered, "Gods I c-can't...it's so good. Varr, fuck,  _f-fuck..._ Ah! R-Right there...Gods, you're going to make me come..."

Varr's thrusts turned animalistic, frantic even, and Thom was forced up and down the bed by the thrusts. Varr's cock against his special spot, making Thom see white every-time he blinked. He didn't think it could be this good, he didn't think he'd never want it to stop. And he honestly didn't. The thought that Varr would never be able to touch him after this was enough for Thom to kiss him desperately a heartbroken sob building up in his chest even as Varr continued to fuck him. 

When the man pulled back for air, Thomar let out a moan, but Varr noticed the tears in his eyes and stopped moving all together, eyes wide.

"No, please," Thom whispered breathlessly. He wrapped his legs tighter around Varr, trying to pull him deeper, "D-Don't stop... _why_ are you stopping?"

"You're crying," Varr said softly, and his expression crumpled, "Thomar, did I-"

"No, no," Thomar cursed himself for ruining it, as he hurriedly wiped his cheeks, "It's fine, I'm fine, just please-"

Varr kissed his forehead, "Tell me why you're crying," he asked gently. 

"I just...," Thom shook his head and took a deep breath to fight the sob building up in his chest, "I don't ever want anybody to touch me. Just you," his chest twisted when he saw Varr's eyes widen. And then the man was kissing him with such desperation that Thomar's heart seemed to have stopped beating for a second. Without warning, the man started thrusting again, his pace picking up and the sob that Thom let out was more a moan than anything else.

"I changed my mind," Varr growled as he pulled away, a thrust punctuating his every word, "We're not going back. I'm not letting them have you," he sounded determined and breathless and warmth pooled inside Thom, "You're mine Tommy," Varr's sudden soft tone was contrasted by his rough, hard thrusts that made Thom's toes curl, "just mine, I'm not letting anybody else have you," Varr leaned down and pressed their foreheads together. His thrusts became faster and more uncoordinated, he let out a quiet moan against Thom's lips, "I'm close. I love you."

Thomar's breath seemed to be punched out of him as Varr messily slid their lips together again, his hand wrapping around Thomar's neglected, hard cock. Two tugs of his hand and Thom was gasping against him and coming all over them, his body shuddering. He felt the exact moment Varr came inside of him, filling him up, and he moaned again at the sensation, his head falling onto the man's shoulder. 

They laid together for ages, Varr almost crushing Thom, but not really. His warmth and weight were welcome as Thomar tried to put his brain back together, body thrumming pleasantly.

Varr kissed Thom's sweaty forehead, "I meant it," he mumbled hoarsely, "What I said. I'm not taking you back there."

Thomar was exhausted, and yet somehow he managed to feel unconditionally happy. He looked up at Varr sleepily when the man pulled out of him. The candle stuttered out and for a second all Thom saw was darkness. Varr brushed his lips against Thom's, to reassure him that he was still there, and the boy realised he was wrong - circumstances didn't matter.

"I love you," Thomar whispered into the darkness. 


	10. The Anger Like a Match

** **

**-CHARDWEN-**

He always thought ropes were more of Will's or Arty's forte, and yet now Dwen found his arms behind his back, tied to bedpost behind him, and he was  _not_ complaining. Adrael was in his lap, legs on either side of the man, slowly riding him. No matter how much the redhead swore he 'liked women,' for the past week Dwen had been the only Bastard he slept with, and he always bottomed. It got to the point where he formally requested that Dwen didn't take any other clients except him, something that made Chardwen smile despite himself every time he thought about it.

He wasn't smiling now - in fact he was biting his lip to stop the moan building up in his throat. Adrael wasn't in a much better state, and though his movements (which were driving Dwen insane) didn't falter, he couldn't keep quiet. The moans that spilled from his mouth were obscene and went right down to Dwen's impossibly hard cock, buried deep inside Adrael's delicious warmth. Seeing him like that, lean body all flushed and freckled, cock bouncing up and down with each move...well, it made Chardwen want to reach out and touch Adrael. He wanted to slide their mouths together, run his hands through Adrael's messy hair, which was falling into his closed eyes. Dwen waned to wrap his hand around the man's neglected cock and watch his face as he climaxed, watch his mouth fall open and his body tremble-

" _Fuck_ ," Chardwen hissed as heat pooled in his stomach. Pleasure thrummed to him pleasantly and through the haze of sex he tried to undo the binds on his wrists, but they held fast. Adrael's thighs were shaking and he let out a chocked out sound, hands curling into fists against Dwen's shoulder, "Please," Dwen whispered shakily, "Undo t-the binds, please."

Adrael opened his eyes and they were so dark that they were almost blank. He smiled arrogantly, but the smile fell right off of his lips when Dwen thrust up at the same time as he thrust down, causing him to slid deeper into the man. The smirk turned into an open mouth gasp, and Adrael's eyes fluttered shut again. Dwen couldn't remember ever being so taken with a client. For the first time in ages he didn't want to just get the sex over and done with. In fact he wanted it to go on for the rest of the night, he wanted to touch every inch of Adrael, memorise him. Tomorrow night he was leaving, and his delegation with him. 

" _Adrael,_ " Chardwen growled in warning. Anger flashed in the man's eyes and he slapped a hand roughly over Dwen's mouth,

"Shut up, you b-bastard," he said shakily, "D-Don't ever say my name  _ah-"_ he cut off, his shoulders trembling, "Fuck," he mumbled weakly. His body had a thin sheen of sweat over it and Dwen could tell he was close,

"Please...come on," he growled. His own orgasm was building up shockingly fast, and he just wanted to get his hands on the man in front of him. But Adrael ignored him, sliding his hands into Chardwen's hair and leaning forward to kiss him sloppily. He whined desperately against Dwen's mouth, his hips stuttering, his pace increasing. His unshaven jaw brushed against Dwen's neck when he pressed his forehead against his shoulder. His hand came between their bodies as he fucked his own palm. Dwen's brain was cloudy but he still felt the spike of pleasure when Adrael bit his shoulder roughly, muffling his moans. Dwen felt the hot come on his stomach more than saw it, and Adrael chocked on a moan. His hole clenched around Dwen's cock and the man curled his hands into fists, letting out a low growl as his own orgasm hit him, almost blinding him. 

He slumped forward, body sensitive from the aftershock, but the binds held fast. Surprisingly Adrael lingered for just a moment as his breathing slowed, gently brushing his fingers through Dwen's hair, shuddering against him. 

"Getting sentimental, eh?" Chardwen asked hoarsely. Adrael made a sour face and climbed off fast. He hurriedly pulled on his clothes, but not before Dwen saw the pearly come between his thighs. It sent a pang of pleasure through him and he impatiently tugged on his binds, 

"Untie me?" he offered as Adrael buttoned up his shirt. The redhead raised an amused eyebrow,

"No, I think not," he said, almost sweetly though Dwen doubted the man could do anything sweetly. Chardwen rolled his eyes,

"Come on," he whispered and for a moment Adrael looked almost...dangerous. His eyes flashed with the power of knowing he had complete control over Chardwen in that moment. And then the look passed and with an exaggerated eye-roll, Adrael reached behind Dwen to undo his binds. He was close, his chest brushing Dwen's face, and the man fought the urge to lean forward, or wrap him up in his finally free arms.

"Tomorrow in the early evening," Adrael pulled away, and he wasn't looking at Chardwen, "We're going to fuck for the last time."

Chardwen swallowed past the lump in his throat. He couldn't argue with Adrael. And besides what would he say -  _Please stay because I've never felt what I feel for you for anyone else?_ He didn't know when it happened, but it had. He couldn't look at Adrael anymore and just see a client, he just couldn't. Whenever he saw him in the corridors, or relaxing in a bath it made his insides grow warm with want, pure want he hadn't felt in ages.

"Yes my Lord," he bowed his head and reached for his pants. Chardwen laced his breeches up and when he looked up Adrael was holding a money pouch to him, cheeks red.

"Take it," he said. Chardwen pulled a face,

"No," he brushed past the redhead, "I don't want your coin anymore."

"It's your  _job_ ," Adrael growled, "So let me pay you. I refuse to believe that you just fucked me because you wanted to."

Chardwen was going to lie, but...well, he was a horrible liar. So he just gave Adrael a look, and it was worth it to see the boy's face turn shocked. He opened his mouth, probably to challenge what Dwen just fundamentally admitted, but then the doors banged open and Halisen ran in, more dishevelled than ever. 

"I hope you're decent!" he proclaimed, not even sparing the two men a second glance. Adrael hastily shoved his pouch back into his pockets, and Halisen froze when he saw who Dwen had been in a room with. The Nymph's eyes shifted from clear blue to a dark lilac, indicating that he was embarrassed. Adrael flushed,

"I didn't fuck him!" he said immediately and Dwen almost smiled - that much was true,  _he_ had fucked Adrael.

"Lord Adrael," Hal bowed hastily, "My apologies I-"

"I was leaving, it's fine," Adrael looked uncomfortable as he walked over to the door. He threw Chardwen an almost wistful look and then hurried out, slamming the door behind him. Halisen slumped with relief and his eyes turned black,

"You didn't tell me the heir to Thyar Bryary was fucking you!" he hissed. Chardwen winced, picking up his shirt from the floor,

"It's not exactly like that, Hal."

"Whatever," Halisen waved him off, "Presently we have bigger problems."

"What is it?" Chardwen asked as he pulled on his boots. He wasn't really in the mood for any bad news at the moment as he tried desperately not to let his mind stray into the  _Adrael is leaving_ territory. Tomorrow was an important day for the Kingdom - the resigning of the Freedom Decree. The Thyar Bryary delegation would meet the other representatives in the Great Hall just a few hours away from the Tower, and there the decision would be made, and announced at dawn. Chardwen tried not to think about that, about how close his freedom was because he was afraid the laws would stay the same and he'd be let down. He much preferred to focus on anything else than the Decree and Adrael - like the guard competition and what they would chose as their prizes tomorrow evening, and about who would buy Thomar's virginity, which wasn't a very nice concept. And, naturally, Dwen wanted to focus on whatever was making Halisen so worried.

"It's Thomar," the boy admitted, his eyes shifting to the warm brown that symbolised worry, "he's gone, and so is Varr."

"What?" Chardwen frowned, "What do you mean  _gone?_ Did you check the tow-"

"Against popular belief  _Chardwen,_ " Halisen snapped, annoyed, "We are not fools. Of course we checked the tower. And the dungeons. And the stables," his shoulders slumped, "They're really gone. The stable boy said he saw Varr take a horse but Thom...," he bit his lip. Dwen had never seen Hal so restless, "nobody's seen Thomar since dinner."

"Does Padrilon know?" Chardwen asked as he felt the panic trickle into his stomach.

"Aye, he got sent the guards out to search the woods but he thinks...," Hal took a deep breath, so Dwen finished for him,

"He thinks it's the Killingard."

A tense silence fell over the two boys as the seriousness of the situation settled in. Chardwen's stomach clenched when he thought about what might've happened to Thomar - about his pale body lying bloodied in the snow, or slowly being tortured somewhere in a cave by the Killingard. Dwen cursed under his breath - he should've reached out to the boy more, after all he was probably terrified about being auctioned off...

When Dwen and Hal finally dragged themselves up to the dorm-room, they saw that the other Bastards weren't in a much better state. Arfer was standing at the window, a cloak that looked suspiciously like Lese's wrapped around his shoulders. His nose was practically up against the glass as his eyes searched the darkness beyond, snowflakes hitting the window every few seconds. 

"Max is coming back," the boy said breathlessly, eyes scanning the courtyard. Then his shoulders slumped, "He's alone."

"That's good," Leophinia was on her bed, Danfrea lying in her lap, sobbing loudly and clinging onto the older girl. Leo smoothed her hair down like an older sister and cradled her gently, "That's means he's not...," she trailed off guiltily. There were dark circles under her eyes and her pink hair looked like a haystack. 

"W-What if he's d-dead?!" Danny sobbed violently, "O-Oh Gods please d-don't let him b-be dead..."

"Shh, darling, shh," Leophinia murmured, "He's not dead. We can't know that."

"Varr must've gone after him," Risja offered, positive as always, "He must've found him by now, that's the only explanation."

Even Halisen didn't open his mouth to try and pessimistically argue with that. Chardwen knew that right now keeping the group's morale up was the most important. Cvernia was sitting by the hearth, an old, creased map in her lap. She ran her freckled hands over the paper, her eyes closed in concentration, but nothing seemed to happen. Wilawil was next to her, holding her hand but not looking very hopeful. He looked numb truly, letting Vern draw his strength to do her location spell.

"It's no use," the witch said, not letting go of Will's hand, "If I had a lock of his hair, a drop of his blood, then it would work but the pull isn't strong enough...," she shook her head in defeat.

"Here," Leophinia gently untangled herself from Danny, "Try taking my strength, you always said it was the most powerful because I'm a half breed."

Vern must've known it wouldn't work but she smiled warmly at Leo anyway. Wilawil got up and climbed onto Leo's bed, lying down next to Danny and hugging her fiercely as if trying to share his courage with her. Leo sat next to Vern on the floor and laced their fingers together. For some reason looking at them made Adrael's face flash in Chardwen's mind. Halisen went to sit by Risja, leaning his head on her shoulder,

"They'll find him," he said hollowly, and he didn't sound convinced. Chardwen picked his way across the room and stood next to Arfer by the window. He couldn't see much except the blurry fires lit down below in the courtyard, and the snow hitting the window. It seemed to be picking up with each minute,

"We should all try and get some sleep," Vern said, clearly having given up on her spells, "They'll wake us when they find him."

A raven flew at the window and perched on the windowsill outside. It's eyes seemed human as it cocked its head to the side, poking the glass with its beak. The smile that bloomed on Arty's face was surprising and Dwen raised an eyebrow,

"Lese?" he guessed. Immediately Arty dropped the smile and flushed,

"P-Probably just some raven," he grumbled, the tips of his ears burning red. Dwen smiled fondly and followed the boy back to the beds.

"I don't want to sleep alone," Danny's silver eyes red and shining with more tears, "W-When I think that poor Thom i-is out there alone-"

Will kissed her forehead, "He's not," he said gently, "Don't worry Danny. He has Varr."

They had no way of knowing that but they had to believe it or fall into despair. Chardwen wasn't ready to mourn Thomar. He wasn't ready to mourn Adrael either.

The Bastards did something they hadn't since the first few times when they had to sleep with clients. They all dragged their blankets and pillows off of their beds and created a sort of fortress with a canopy on the floor, near the hearth. Risja was asleep in seconds, curled up into Leo's side, and Will threw an arm around Arfer who looked like he wouldn't sleep for hours. Chardwen settled between Cvernia and Danny. The youngest girl wouldn't stop sniffling and it broke Dwen's heart. He rubbed her back until she fell into a nervous sleep. It grew darker as the hearth burned out. Slowly each of the Bastards fell asleep. Dwen kept his eyes closed, trying uselessly to follow them into the dream land. Arfer was laying on his back, staring up at the canopy of their fortress, unblinking. Cvernia was wrapped almost completely around Leo, and the two girls were whispering about something softly. 

After some time of lying still Chardwen's mind started to wander. First he thought of how terrifying being in the woods alone in the middle of the night must be. Then he thought about Adrael again, and about their first meeting in the hallway, when Dwen had been so furious with him. It seemed like months ago but it had barely been two weeks. Every time Dwen closed his eyes he saw Adrael; his flushed face, sometimes from anger, sometimes from pleasure. His stormy brown eyes, the way his hair curled if it got damp. He saw his body, with  Dwen's hands on him. The boy squeezed his eyes shut at the pain gripped his heart - in a few hours, Adrael would be gone. Forever.

*** 

In the morning there were still no news of Varr or Thomar. Everyone's moods dampened as they went downstairs to the kitchen for breakfast and saw Helmchet and Lese wolfing down their food after the night of searching.

"And?" Vern asked as 'good morning.' Helmchet looked up at her sharply, his eyes narrowing,

"They're not here, are they?" he barked.

"Leave off, Helmchet," Lese sounded exhausted. After a moment's hesitation, Arfer slid into the seat next to him and the other Bastards filed in around them. They didn't eat, didn't have the stomachs for it. Chardwen felt vaguely ill. Helmchet burped loudly when he finished his food and pushed his bowl back, grinning as if one of them wasn't missing,

"So, tonight the guard competition climaxes," he stated. Lese pulled a face but it was Arfer who spoke,

"There's no way in seven hells the competition will continue with Varr and Thom missing-"

"A promise is a promise, whore," Helmchet snapped, "and we all know I'm going to win, and Padrilon will have to give me anything I want," his eyes focused on Arfer and his smile grew into a leer, "and it's clear what I'm going to demand."

Arfer flushed and Lese stood up abruptly, eyes furious. Just then Padrilon swept into the kitchen, white cloak billowing behind him. The heads of all present snapped to him, eager for news, and Arty tugged Lese back down onto the bench. 

"Did they find them?" Danfrea asked, hopeful. Chardwen reached under the table and squeezed her hand. Padrilon cleared his throat,

"Unfortunately my son and Mister Sung-Orah are still missing," he informed them, and everyone deflated, "I think it is best that we close the Tower for the meantime."

The information came as a shock. In its twenty two years of functioning the Tower had never once shut. 

"But...," Leophinia started, but then trailed off as if she didn't know what to say. 

"It's for the best I cannot put anybody in harms way," Padrilon continued, professional as always, "Tomorrow morning I have arranged for all of you to be transported to a countryside mansion where we will wait until the Killingard are captured-"

" _If_ they are captured," Helmchet looked like he was enjoying himself, "If the Freedom Decree is signed against the Nurturers then the Killingard won't be stopped."

"We'll worry about that obstacle when he get to it, Mister Royalf," Padrilon said coldly, "In the meantime I want our lost to have time to return back. If they are not back by dawn," a look of discomfort passed Padrilon's face briefly, "then we'll move on without them. In any case the auction is called off, but I will announce the winner of the guard contest at dinner."

Helmchet smirked, Lese frowned, and Padrilon shook his head, "Let us not lose hope, children," he said kindly and just like that he was gone. 

***

Chardwen couldn't do it - he couldn't work. He ran a bath for a quite good looking if a bit elderly Lord and when the man asked for a session in bed, Dwen asked Halisen to go with him because somewhere along the way he realised he couldn't bear to have sex with anybody other than Adrael. Instead he dragged himself to the dorm-room and fell asleep in the slightly collapsed fort, thinking about how he'd tell Padrilon that he couldn't work there anymore. As a Nymph Chardwen belonged to the man, but if the Decree was signed in his favour...

He fell asleep and when he woke up  _hours_ had passed, something that alarmed Dwen. He hadn't meant to sleep for so long. Among the pillows Risja was buried, and she clearly couldn't take doing work either. She was sleeping peacefully and Dwen decided not to wake her as he scrambled out of the fort, limbs numb. It was late afternoon, amber light falling in through the snow encrusted windows, and Dwen swallowed, thinking about how angry everybody would be that he slept all day instead of working. 

But when the boy dragged himself downstairs he saw utter chaos. Lords, Ladies, Barons, Viscounts, Countesses, all of them were spilling out of their rooms, their servants dragging their heavy bags downstairs. Chardwen gaped at them, and Cvernia appeared out of the crowd, grabbing him by the wrist,

"They found a village girl's body by the front gate," her eyes were wide with fear, "Padrilon had commanded all the guests leave immediately. Carriages have been coming and going for the better part of the hour-"

Chardwen stopped listening to her - blood rushed to his ears until he couldn't hear. All he could think about was Adrael. He broke away from Vern mid-word and pounded downstairs where the best chambers were being taken up by the Thyar Bryary delegation. Had they left already? What if Dwen had missed them and he'd never see Adrael again...he felt sick, and angry - with himself, with the Killingard, with everyone. He shouldn't have ever gotten so close to Adrael, but it was too late to regret that now. Everything was happening so fast it was hard for Dwen to wrap his head around it all. 

When he saw the redhead slip out of the chamber at the end of a long, crimson hallway, he had to stop and double check that it was really Adrael. For a horrible, guilty moment he had expected it to be Will, but when his stomach twisted and his heart skipped a beat and he saw Adrael's unshaven jaw and the shirt spilling from his breeches sloppily he knew he made no mistake. It took all of Dwen's strength not to hurl himself at the redhead and hold him in his arms. 

Adrael blinked at him, and a weird look passed in his eyes, "Chardwen," he sounded surprised.

"I thought you left," Chardwen hated how breathless he was. His heart pounded, "I thought...," he licked his lips nervously. Adrael glanced at the door behind him and seemed to have some kind of internal battle with himself. Then he suddenly crossed the hallway to Chardwen and, to the Bastard's shock, threw his arms around the man's shoulders and kissed him. It had a hint of desperation in it, but Dwen didn't care as he kissed back fiercely, wrapping his arms around Adrael the way he wanted to before. The man was warm, and real, and Dwen had the foolish thought that he never wanted to let him go. 

"What is it?" he asked as he pulled away. Adrael looked...unlike himself. His eyes were full of misery and hurt, "Don't tell me you'll actually miss me," Dwen teased. 

"I won't," Adrael said softly, and it was a clear lie. He was trembling, "We're leaving soon."

Something hurt, deep, deep inside of Chardwen, "Aye."

"I...I want you to sleep with you again," it sounded like a question, an offer, not a request. Chardwen didn't know why Adrael was being weird, but he wasn't about to turn him down. He leaned down to kiss him again and started to walk him backwards to his apartments but the redhead froze,

"No," he said hurriedly, his voice harsh, "No, I want to go somewhere private, somewhere nobody will find us."

"Why?" Chardwen frowned. Adrael's expression turned cold,

"Because I said so, now do what I said," he growled.

Chardwen didn't ask anything anymore as he led Adrael down the stairs, past guests in a hurry to leave the Tower and the danger outside. They made it to the ground floor and continued down still. It was an improvised idea, one that Dwen had gotten from Arfer and Lese. As he walked down to the dungeons, he started doubting his idea. It was freezing down among the wine barrels, and the ground was cold and hard. For a guard and a Bastard that might've been alright, but Dwen didn't think Adrael would appreciate having sex on bare ground.

"I apologise-" Chardwen started, turning around, but Adrael just pushed him against the closest wall, kissing Chardwen intensely, his tongue forcing its way into the Bastard's mouth. But Dwen didn't want it to be like the previous times, he didn't want rough, hard sex. He wanted to savour this last chance to have Adrael. He twisted them around, and then gently pressed the redhead against the wall, cradling him in his arms. He forced the kiss to turn slow and passionate, one hand cupping Adrael's stubbly face. The redhead didn't protest, his brows furrowing as Chardwen deepened their kiss.

"I...," the man started when Chardwen started peppering his neck with kisses, "all t-those things I said...they were lies."

"What?" Dwen murmured around his collarbone, hands sliding down to palm at Adrael's ass, making him gasp,

"W-When...when I called you disgusting," he said shakily. Despite the cold cellar, Chardwen felt warm as he pressed up against Adrael, staring at him intently, "When I said I only liked women, when I called you a whore - I didn't mean any of it."

Chardwen's mouth twitched into a smile, "But I am a whore," he said softly.

Adrael shook his head violently as if Dwen wasn't understanding something, "N-No, you're so much more, Chardwen I-"

"It's alright," Chardwen kissed his cheek. He felt like if Adrael said one more word his heart wouldn't be able to handle it. No matter what, Dwen would rather be left to speculate then have Adrael end all doubts by telling Dwen how he felt about him. The Bastard couldn't stand the thought of knowing Adrael felt something for him and still chose to leave, "Don't say anymore."

"I'm sorry," Adrael pulled him down for a kiss, "C-Chardwen, I'm so sorry."

"For what?" Chardwen murmured softly, brushing Adrael's fiery hair from his face. 

The man punched him in the gut. Chardwen sucked in a startled breath as pain exploded in his abdomen and Adrael kicked his legs from underneath him. Dwen's head hit the floor and his world went fuzzy around the edges. Everything hurt, especially his heart, and his mouth was full of blood. Confusion filled his brain and ringing drowned his ears. He was vaguely aware of Adrael pulling him across the cellar floor, of a rough rope being tied around his wrists. Everything he saw was double.

"Adrael," Chardwen whispered, confused, hurt, he didn't understand why Adrael was hurting him.

"That's not my name," Adrael sound so heartbroken that Dwen almost felt sorry for him. The ringing in his ears stopped but his body still ached. He could feel bruises forming on his back. Adrael was standing by the door, his eyes full of tears, hands clenched into fists,

"What are y-you doing?" Chardwen asked helplessly. He couldn't move - his wrists and ankles were tied together, but he didn't care about that. 

"Adrael Charheredan is dead," the redhead said bitterly, turning his face away from Dwen as if he couldn't look at him. Chardwen wanted to say _No he isn't, he's standing right there,_ "The Thyar Bryary delegations is buried in the woods somewhere north of here a-and I'm...my name is Thris," he said the name like it was venom and Dwen tried to wrap his head around what he was being told. His brain pounded, "Thris Othyryth."

"No," Chardwen mumbled, trying to get Adrael-Thris-whoever to shut up, to stop lying.

"I...the Killingard sent me," the boy whispered, "to kill you. To kill all of you."

Chardwen was finally beginning to understand. He had never seen the rest of the delegation leave their chambers. Thris hated Dwen calling him Adrael. The  _real_ Adrael preferred women, he had a fiancee. Dwen felt sick. All this time he had literally been in bed with the enemy, he even had feelings for him! For a fraud, a killer. The realisation hit him harder than Thris' punch.

"Do it then," Chardwen felt so betrayed he wanted to throw up, "Kill me." He looked up at Thris, but the boy - the boy who Dwen didn't really know - was staring at his feet, hands trembling, "I said  _do it!"_ rage took over the place of Chardwen's betrayal. His friends said his anger was like a match. His friends, who Adrael was going to kill. 

"I-I can't," the boy's voice shook terribly, "I thought I could. I-I thought it was j-just sex b-but...," he looked at Chardwen desperately, "I can't hurt you. Dwen I'm sorry-"

"Don't." Chardwen hissed, "I don't care if you never meant it. I mean what I say now - You  _are_ disgusting. And you're a fucking bastard."

With tears in his eyes the killer that was Thris Othyryth turned on his heel and abandoned Chardwen, tied up in the cellar, making sure to slam the doors closed behind him, leaving the man in darkness and pain.


	11. The Nine Pieces

** **

**-ARFER-**

Arfer could feel the tense atmosphere in the air as the day dragged on. He had been outside in the snow with Lese when they found the body. He hadn't meant to be but ever since the cellar incident the Bastard found that every time he saw the guard his heart would skip a beat or his stomach would flip and it was impossible for him to not go up to the man and strike up a conversation. It was peculiar - a bit awkward at first despite the fact that the two knew each other for years, but then the familiarity and comfort that reminded Arty why they were friends all that time ago came back. The two had been by the stables, both of them feeding apples to the horses, talking about...Arty couldn't remember what they were talking about, but he had been laughing. He remembered Lese in the dim light, his cheeks flushed, grinning, hair a messy mop on top of his head. He hadn't shaved. 

The Duchess of Cardenau's scream alerted them about the body. Arfer remembered the almost blind panic he had been in when he heard the shrilly scream. He had thought that maybe it was Vern, or Leo, or Will, or anybody else. Lese had been faster, and got there first and when Arfer made it to the gate the guard had grabbed him by the arms and tried to turn him away,

"You don't need to see this," he said sternly. Arfer elbowed him in the ribs and pushed past him. Lese went to the Duchess of Cardenau, a middle aged woman, who was fanning herself furiously, clinging onto Lese and wailing about how horrified she was. Right outside the gate was the body. It was a girl, and her hair was like corn. That was the only part of her that was still...recognisable. She was cut up into nine grotesque parts, two hands, two arms, two legs, the torso,the head, and one ear - _one for each of the Bastards_ , Arfer realised with his stomach churning. She had been mutilated badly and her body parts were carefully arranged in the snow, staining it crimson. Arty could only hope that her head had been severed first. Despite the grotesque display in front of him he couldn't stop staring, couldn't throw up despite the heavy feeling in his stomach. And the relief that he felt was disgusting. But he was just glad, just so,  _so_ glad that it wasn't someone from his family.

"Come on Arty," people were running out into the courtyard wanting to see what the commotion was about, Padrilon's cloak was billowing as he came charging. There was shouting, shoving, fainting. It was chaotic. Now, hours later the Tower was almost completely abandoned. Arfer was sitting on the windowsill in one of the guest rooms, watching gloomily as the moon made its appearance in the sky. He was used to the Tower teeming with life and noise, and now hearing the silence was overbearing. Apart from Padrilon, the guards, the Bastards and the Thyar Bryary Delegation who were waiting for their escort, the White Tower was empty. Somewhere out in the dark woods that Arfer was searching with his eyes there was the Killingard, waiting to attack. The boy shivered and flinched away from the window. He didn't want them to see him if they decided to look up. 

It was late evening, and there was no sign of Thomar or Varr. Arfer was losing hope but he didn't dare voice his doubts out loud. And yet he still believed that the two were out there somewhere - somehow he doubted that the Killingard would spare the Elf, or keep him as a hostage. If anything they'd chose to display his body outside the gate, and not the village girls'. 

Arfer's eyes swept the room - the king-sized bed, the roaring fireplace. Tomorrow morning they'd leave this place, maybe forever. Despite everything, despite how...harrowing his work was, Arty didn't want that. The White Tower was the only home he ever knew, ever  _had._ Somewhere in the world he had parents. His mother Seona Baou could be anywhere - she could be in Ayrethwaithe, the drowned city, sitting on a throne that Arfer had never seen. She probably forgot about her bastard son years ago. As to his father, Yaral, Seona's butler...Arfer didn't even know if he was still alive.

He had nowhere to go, none of them did. If the Tower didn't open up again Padrilon would have no choice but to send the Bastards on their way. Arfer collapsed face-first on the bed, and felt it sink beneath his weight. He sighed against the velvety pillows. Lese, Helmchet and Lenmax would have no problem finding a job, in the uneasiness that the Kingdom was experiencing there was a great need for guards. Whatever the outcome of the resigning of the Freedom Decree-

 _The resigning_. Arfer groaned and twisted onto his back, his hair falling into his eyes. Of course. He forgot about that - if the Decree was signed against the Nurturers then Padrilon would simply sell them to someone else. Dark imaged flashed in Arfer's mind - chains, dark, stinking rooms, slaving away...he shuddered.

"Just kill me," he mumbled dejectedly to the open room. 

"No thank you," Danfrea said timidly from the doorway. Arfer sat up and saw the girl hovering uncertainly by the door, her silver eyes wide and bloodshot in her pale face. She looked like a ghost, "I don't want to kill you."

"That's not what I meant, Danny," Arfer muttered, feeling exhausted even though he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep for hours. The girl was fidgeting, "What is it?" Arty asked, frowning. Danny was so shy that she'd never tell you anything unless you directly asked her. Arfer had no idea how she even managed to have sex with strangers and honestly he didn't really want to know. The girl was like a little sister. 

"Padrilon's going to announce the winner of the contest," the girl whispered.

"What contest?"

"The guard one."

Arfer blinked, and then felt as if a steel hand had gripped his stomach. Helmchet's smirk flashed in his head. It was no secret that the man would want nothing else than to beat Arfer down, to break him. That might have had something to do with the fact that when he had first arrived at the Tower, Arty had been twelve. Helmchet, a little over twenty at the time, had apparently thought that anything went in the Tower and tried to get his hand on Arfer. It ended with Arty kneeing him in the crown jewels so hard that he couldn't walk for two days and was almost let go. But at that time most young men were malnourished and Padrilon really needed the security from the post-war looters.

Since then Helmchet had kept his distance, sticking to insults, looks and threats. Sometimes a rough grip on Arty's wrist, or a warning hand around his throat. The idea that he could be given complete power over Arfer was horrifying. The boy decided that if he ended up in the bedroom alone with Helmchet he'd push him out of the window and blame it on the Killingard.  _Great plan,_ he thought sarcastically. 

"Do I have to be there?" Arty asked through his teeth.

"If Helmchet wins...," Danfrea bit her lip, "I don't think he will though."

"Whatever," Arty slid off the bed, "If anything at least I'll know what direction to run in."

They went downstairs together. Most of the torches in the hallways were extinguished, the baths had been drained. It felt alien to Arfer, like the White Tower was dying, or going into hibernation. The others were gathered in the mess hall - a room where the Bastards rarely went, lined with long tables where guests sat at feast times. There was nobody but the clump of Bastards there now, and they looked horribly small in the huge hall. The fireplaces were cold, the room chilly, snow was hitting the windows futilely, as if trying to break through the glass. 

"Good you are here, Mister Dan-Ra," Padrilon inclined his head. Nobody was excited. In fact, Arfer though the contest was idiotic at this point, and pointless. But Padrilon was a man of his word and the Bastard had to admit that it did take the edge off a bit. Leophinia was perched on the table, actually looking relaxed, her face lit up with a grin. Halisen was leaning against her, unimpressed as usual. Wilawil was amusing himself by poking his finger in the hole in Cvernia's leggings, something the girl was graciously ignoring. 

"Have you seen Chardwen?" Risja asked when Arty and Danny walked in. She had a cup of steaming tea in her hands but wasn't drinking it. 

"Don't tell me he's gone too," Arfer made a sour face.

"Relax," Vern said, "I saw him not half an hour ago. I think he was sleeping-"

"He was," Risja confirmed soberly. 

"...and I told him about the body. He rushed downstairs to the Thyar Bryary delegation."

"Ah," Halisen smirked like a sly cat, "Adrael Charheredan had been requesting him for the past week. He's probably there."

"You're  _lying_!" Leophinia gaped, "Why didn't you tell me?!"

"Children, children," Padrilon said quietly and his voice made everyone go silent, "Let us go on with the contest without Mister Ea'nas and you may all go on packing for tomorrow," a shadow passed over his face at the reminder of their departure.  _He might be leaving his son behind..._

Arfer glanced at Helmchet, who was watching him out of the corner of his eyes, smirking. The Bastard glared at him. Then he looked at Lese who looked...distraught. Arfer was nervous, on edge, and he suddenly wanted to crawl into Lese's strong arms (something he never did before) and just stay there, warm and comfortable until everything blew over. He tried to mentally calculate everything the guards did in the past week, and which of them might win. Helmchet found a lost horse who had been spooked in the night and ran to the forest. He stopped a small kitchen fire started by Leophinia. However Lenmax took the hardest job of venturing outside the walls as a fox and patrolling the forest. Lese on the other hand saved three people from slipping on the ice, bandaged a Lord's hand when the man cut himself with a steak knife. He buried the decapitated girl and went out to town to ask the people if they saw anyone. He also stood his ground against Auri. 

Padrilon launched into a speech about how 'proud he was' of the guards and how they were 'essential' to the White Tower but Arfer was too busy tracing Lese's jawline with his eyes to bother listening. He tuned in when Leophinia elbowed him,

"...so despite the fact that all three of you have done a brilliant job protecting this establishment, I believe one of you stood out the most this past fortnight," Padrilon stopped for a dramatic pause and Arfer almost groaned. His heart was pounding and he felt a sudden surge of light-headedness. He was afraid that Padrilon would say that Helmchet won, and then he'd do horrible things to Arfer. Even now he was looking at him the way a predator might look at a prey, "The winner of this contest, and the man who may chose to have  _anything_ in my power, is Mister Gwen'roy."

Arfer exhaled freakishly loudly as all eyes turned to Lenmax, who looked so shocked that he didn't even speak. Helmchet's smirk fell right off his face, which was enough to make Arty gloat, and he was now glaring at his fellow guard. On Max's other side Lese's shoulders slumped and he looked disappointed, though not bitter.

"Oh," Lenmax said. Everyone cheered and started clapping, and getting much too excited. Arfer supposed it was because everyone's emotions had been building up all day, and now such small good news as Max getting what he deserved was enough to make people jump on him and kiss his cheeks. 

"What are you going to have?!" Leophinia asked breathlessly, hanging off the man's shoulders.

"Oh you can have anything!" Danny squealed, " _Anything!"_

Lenmax was blushing from all the attention, "I...um...," he looked at Padrilon nervously, "In that case I'd like t-to ask if perhaps I'd be allowed to take some days off to go see my mother please."

Danfrea started crying loudly,  _"_ That's so  _sweet_!" she sobbed against the guard's shoulder. Lese grinned and clapped his friend on the shoulder, but Helmchet had to ruin in.

"Are you  _insane_?!" he growled, "You can have fucking anything, literally anything, and you chose to go see your mother, you damn fool!"

"Hey, back off Helmchet," Lese's eyes narrowed, "It's still better than whatever you would have chosen."

Helmchet smirked, as if he found something funny, "We all know what  _you'd_ chose," and then his eyes slid pointedly to Arfer. The Bastard blinked at him, confused for a second. Then he saw the blood rush to Lese's face and it hit him. His eyes widened, his heart twisted. Everyone held their breath as Arty stared at Lese. The air between seemed to crackle with electricity and Arfer felt unsteady.  _No,_ he told himself sternly,  _Helmchet is just trying to irritate him. Lese would never want me like that, he knows I'm a prostitute..._ Arfer cleared his throat and Padrilon stepped forward.

"Mister Royalf please hold onto your honour," his voice was cold and clipped, "There will be no arguments between us, not now when the world is against us. Everybody, return to your chambers, try to sleep. At dawn we leave here."

"What will happen?" Danfrea asked quietly.

"Don't worry," Vern smiled at her, "Everything will be fine."

"Mister Gwen'roy," Padrilon turned to Max, "if I could ask you to refrain from invoking your wish to leave until our departure tomorrow-"

"Of course!" Lenmax interrupted fiercely, "I would never leave you undefended."

"Hey!" Lese protested weakly, "I'm here, aren't I?"

"I'm going to go search for Chardwen," Risja announced, "I don't know why, but I have a bad feeling."

"It's just nerves honey," Vern told her kindly, "But I will go with you."

"Arfer," Halisen was suddenly next to Arfer, looking as unimpressed as ever, his eyes light blue in annoyance, "Can I speak to you outside?"

Halisen was practically never serious. With his emotions always clear from his eye colour it was hard for him to hide anything, causing him to be straightforward and come off rude at times. So now as he led Arfer down to the corridor leading to the cellar, away from everyone else, the boy began to feel worried. It must've been serious if Halisen was being so secretive and Arty was becoming increasingly worried that it might've been something along the lines of  _I found Dwen's body downstairs and I don't know what to do about it._

When Hal finally had him in the dark corner, he got straight to the point.

"You're in love with Lese."

Arfer chocked on a breath, "No I'm not!" he protested, and then grumbled to himself, "Why does everyone keep saying that?"

"Because it's  _true!"_ Hal smacked him upside the head. Then he leaned in closer, "Look, you two had been close ever since you were children. Just because for the past few years you made a point of constantly trying to push him away doesn't mean he doesn't have feelings for you. You're just too blind to see it."

"H-He doesn't have anything for me," Arfer was surprised at how shaky he sounded, "I'm a prostitute, Hal. He could never-"

"Shut up," Halisen snapped, "He knows perfectly well what you are. But I see the way he looks at you,  _everyone_ sees it, except you apparently."

"Alright genius," Arfer snapped. A warm feeling was building in his chest and he desperately wanted to suppress it, "what do you want me to do about it?"

"Go upstairs and ask him to fuck you," Hal said causally and Arfer chocked on air again. 

"W-What?!" he spluttered.

"Or," Halisen mused, "If you want to be more subtle try something like...'I think you deserve to have anything you want as well and I'll do anything in my power to give it to you.' Aye, he should take the bait."

"You're insane," Arfer shook his head. 

"So will you do it?" Halisen asked, eyes sparkling golden with curiosity. 

Arfer really could've declined and gone to the dorm room to pack his small amount of belongings. But what Halisen was presenting him with was an opportunity. After tonight everything would change, the White Tower might not exist anymore. Maybe it was the sense of impending doom that made Arty say,

"I'll do it."

*** 

The last time Arfer was in Lese's room it had been when they were children. Lese was a stable boy before being a guard and he shared a room with Lenmax on the fourth floor. Now that they had grown up each of them got their own, albeit small and cramped, room on that same floor. When Arfer knocked on Lese's door with a shaking fist he didn't know what to expect. And Lese clearly didn't expect him because he frowned when he saw Arty standing outside his door.

"Did something happen?" he asked, immediately alert. Arfer swallowed hard, but it was too late to back out now.

"No, everything's alright," he said quietly, "Can I...um, can I come in?" Arty was practically never one to be shy but he felt so nervous he could've been sick. He was terrified of rejection, and he didn't realise that until now. Apart from the occasionally teasing Lese had been nothing but kind to Arfer, and he hated to think that it was because of principal. He hated to think what Lese could really be thinking about him.  _You're disgusting, just because I talk to you doesn't mean I could ever harbour feelings for you. You sell your body for a living. How many men have had you, Arfer? Arfer?_

"...Arfer!" Lese snapped his fingers in front of the boy's face and the Bastard flinched away. Lese looked even more worried now, "Are you alright?"

Arty cleared his throat, "Um..aye. Aye, I'm fine."

Lese stepped back to let him into the room and Arty lost his last chance to turn back. Lese's room was just like himself - messy, but in a surprisingly organised way. His tiny bed was made, but there was a pile of clothes on top of it, clearly waiting to be packed away. There was a curtain pulled over the window and Arfer was glad for it. He kept thinking the woods had eyes, and were looking into the brightly lit windows of the White Tower. Apart from the bed the only thing in the room was an oak wardrobe, open and mostly emptied, and a small wooden desk with parchment and quills strewn all over it. A few books littered the windowsill.

"I'm sorry about the mess," Lese said. 

"No you're not," Arfer smiled. Lese smiled too, his eyes twinkling,

"No I'm not," he agreed softly. There was only one candle burning, and the room felt small, and dark, and intimate. Arfer dazed out a bit, and stared at Lese for a minute. The man clearing his throat made the Bastard snap out of it, "So why are you here, big-ears?" the guard asked, walking over to his clothes. He began folding them methodically,

"I told you to stop calling me that," Arfer sighed, frustrated, but not because of Lese. He was frustrated because Hal had made it seem so easy and now that Arty was here he couldn't seem to be able to tell Lese what was on his mind.

"What else should I call you?" Lese teased, "that's your most notable feature."

Self-consciously Arty pressed his hands over his ears like a child and flushed. This was really not starting off well. Arfer felt weirdly insecure and aware of himself all over a sudden - he was wearing worn out, old breeches that had a rip near the ankle. His hair was sticking up everywhere, his shirt wasn't one of the nice ones he wore for the guests, but instead it was one of his black button ups, and it was buttoned up  _wrong._ Arty swallowed nervously,  _since when do I care about appearances?_

He never wanted to have these  _feelings._ He knew Lese was gorgeous, but Gods it was more than that. Arfer didn't care about what people looked like. But Lese was kind, and funny, and warm. He didn't treat Arfer with the distance that other 'outsiders' did. He spoke with fondness that made Arty's spine tingle, and Arfer just wanted to touch him, to have him close. They had so much tension between them and it just continued building because Arty couldn't open his stupid mouth, because he was too scared. 

"That's it," Lese dropped the clothes he was holding and turned to Arfer, arms crossed over his chest, "Something's bothering you and you better tell me what it is."

Arty raised an eyebrow to hide his shakiness and hurriedly dropped his hands from his ears, "Since when do you give me orders?"

"I'm serious Arty," Lese sighed and uncrossed his arms, "You're here because something's going on, but all you did since you got here was stare into space."

Arfer puffed out his cheeks, his insides twisting. He opened his mouth but his words got stuck in his throat. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, trying to gather his thoughts.

"You're nervous," Lese stated.

"No I'm not," Arty snapped. Lese smiled at that,

"Your hands are shaking and you're all jittery of course you're nervous," the smile fell off of his face suddenly, "Wait. Is this about what Helmchet said?"

"Huh?" Arfer offered intelligently. A dust of pink rose to Lese's cheeks,

"Because what he said was...well it was to irritate me," he was mumbling so Arty could barely make out the words, "because...because you know, I-I wouldn't have chosen you. If I won. I don't want you...like that," he cleared his throat awkwardly but Arfer stopped listening anyway. He felt sick again, like all the blood had drained from his body. He also felt like someone punched a hole in his stomach. There it was - the rejection. Arty tried to laugh but he couldn't get a noise out. He didn't think it would...hurt so much. He wanted to cry.

"Alright," he chocked out, feeling tears prick at the back of his eyes. The panicked look that appeared in Lese's eyes alerted Arfer that he noticed,

"Gods Arty I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you. Did I say something?!" he reached out to the boy but the Bastard flinched away weakly,

"Please don't touch me," he said faintly. 

They both jumped when the door slammed open, hitting the war. A girl strode in, her dark eyes flashing with anger, her pale purple hair pulled back from her face. There was a crossbow in her hand and she immediately trained it on Lese, but instead of addressing that the guard intelligently said,

"Lady Cireth."

"I'm not that stupid bitch," the girl spat, "My name is Nalia, and I'm here with the Killingard."

Arfer gaped at her. She was...Cireth. One of the Thyar Bryary delegation. Why was she here? Why was she holding a crossbow?

"What?" Arfer asked, feeling weirdly calm though his hands were still shaking. 

"Shut up you worthless whore," the girl - Nalia - snapped at Arfer. Lese frowned,

"Hey, don't talk to him li-"

"Silence!" the girl raised the crossbow so it was pointing at Lese's face, "One more word from either of you and you get a shot between the fucking eyes."

Arfer and Lese exchanged a look, and that's when the panic set in. The Killingard had come in unstopped. Because the guards were inside for the stupid fucking contest. Dread trickled into Arty's stomach.

"What the hell," he whispered. Nalia raised her crossbow and hit him across the face with it. Arfer's head snapped to the side as he felt the sting on his cheek where the arrowhead dug into his skin. It was shallow but the blood pouring from it was weirdly warm on Arty's cheeks. His vision went blurry for a second.

Lese snapped into action, easily wrenching the crossbow from the girl's hands. Clearly she hadn't been expecting it because her eyes widened in shock. The guard pointed the crossbow at her. 

"Get away from him you bitch," he hissed. Arfer had never seen him so furious, his dark eyes were stormy, his hands deadly steady. The girl stumbled back but then a man emerged from the shadowy doorway behind her and Arty's heart plummeted to the ground. Unlike the short, slim girl this man looked like he was carved from stone. He had angry green eyes set in his tanned face, and his long chestnut beard completely covered his lips. He had to bend his head to get through the door. His inked arms were the size of Arfer's torso, and he carried an evilly gleaming sword in his hand, making Lese's crossbow look like a toy.

"I'd put that down, boy," he growled, low and raspy. Arfer flinched but Lese just narrowed his eyes,

"I've got this, Muragh," the girl stated. 

"I can see that, Nalia," Muragh replied sarcastically.

"Lese," Arfer whispered softly, "Put the crossbow down before he snaps your arms off."

Lese dropped the crossbow immediately and with his now free hands he grabbed Arfer's wrist, drawing the smaller boy behind himself. 

"You should let him go," Nalia said, more confident now that her companion had arrived. She picked her crossbow back up, "We've overrun this place. We're going to kill  _all_ the dirty Nurturer scum," she glared at Arty fiercely, "But we do not harm our own. The Shapeshifters and Humans will be locked until dawn, and when we have rid this place of the plague we will move on. Town to town, everywhere we go we will kill any dirty Nurturer we see, no matter what the outcome of the resigning of the Freedom Decree will be!"

"Would you like to tell them any more of our plan, Nalia?" Muragh asked casually. 

"It makes no matter," the girl smiled, "They're going to die anyway."

"This one isn't," Muragh's eyes slid to Lese, "He's a shapeshifter. The one Auri spoke to."

"Whatever, enough talk," Nalia slid to the side, leaving the doorway open, "The Nurturer first."

"No, I'm coming with him," Lese protested heatedly. Nalia laughed, 

"How sweet," she said. Muragh drew his sword and held it casually in his hand. Casually meaning he was ready to swing it if he had to,

"Do what the girl says," he said. Before Lese could risk his life and stop Arfer, the boy dashed from behind him. 

"Arty don't-" Lese tried to reach for him but Muragh swiped the air between them with a sword, 

"Leave him alone, Shifter," Muragh said, "You're coming with me."

"No I'm not," Lese said again. 

" _Lese_ ," Arty snapped, and then his voice softened. He felt dizzy with fear, "Just do what they say."

Lese gave him a hopeless look, "Arty."

Nalia looked between them and raised an eyebrow. She looked at Lese, "You're superior," she said, "You're a Shifter. And you care about some dirty little Merman."

Arfer could barely hear them. It hit him that this was real. That Varr and Thom were probably never coming back because they were dead somewhere in the snow, that all of them would get killed.

Nalia shoved her crossbow into Arfer's back, "Move," she seethed, bringing him back to reality. When had Arfer's home become a prison? The boy stumbled out into the corridor, lit only by a few torches. He felt sluggish, his legs heavy. He was scared he'd pass out, "Down to the mess hall, Whore," Nalia snarled, like a dog. When Arty glanced back he saw Muragh leading Lese out. To his horror, they turned away from them, up the corridor.

"No," Arfer protested weakly. He suddenly couldn't bear to part from Lese, he couldn't breathe, he needed Lese, he just...the boy blinked at the tears in his eyes and forced himself to calm down. He couldn't risk Lese's life. They said they'd let him live, and that all that matter. Nalia started leading him towards the stairs.

"No!" he heard Lese shout, somewhere up the corridor, but he didn't turn back,  _couldn't,_ "Fuck! Let me go you piece of shit!  _Arty!"_

Arfer disappeared into the darkness of his stairs, and chocked on a sob. He was going to die. They were all going to die. 


	12. The Last Man and the Mouse Trap

** **

**-VARR-**

When Varr went after Thomar he had only meant to bring him back. The only reason he even found the boy was gone was because of the tracks he left in the snow which led right into town. When Varr got there at dusk he was surprised that one of the prostitutes from the Veiled Lady stopped him in the street and led him directly to the brothel, explaining that Thom had stopped there. Varr had been furious as he stomped up the stairs and then up a flimsy little ladder. He had been worried sick when he found Thom gone, and had gone through the forest in wolf form expecting to find his bloodied corpse among the trees at every step. He had barged into the room the prostitute showed him intending to shout at Thom and then drag him back to the Tower, scolding him every step of the way.

But when he actually saw the boy his anger evaporated immediately. Thom looked like an angel, bundled up in the blankets, so soft and innocent that Varr was helpless to do anything more then sit next to him and run his fingers through the boy's hair, studying his face until his pale eyelashes fluttered open. The rest was history, and when Varr was making love to the boy he realised that he could not allow him to be raped by strangers. Because he loved him. 

Varr's father always preached at him that falling in love was a weakness, and that despite the fact that the Bastards were their family Varr should never fall in love with any of them. And now he did exactly that. Somehow Thom had pushed through the walls that Varr had spent years building up and weaselled his way into his heart and now here they were, standing on the edge of the forest, about to run away together. 

Of course Varr was having second thoughts - the White Tower was his home, and his father and the rest of his family were there. But every time he looked at Thomar, with snow in his hair, his hands shaking in the cold, his resolve would harden again. Varr had a friend overseas, one he hadn't spoken to for years but he hoped that despite the years she'd accept him and Thomar into her home until they could find a place of their own. It would be no White Tower but Varr was prepared to live a commoner's life if it meant that he could shield Thom from the cruelty of prostitution.

"We're going to go a short way back to the Tower," Varr said, his breath ghosting in front of his face. The town was deserted by this hour, but Varr wasn't risking somebody seeing them go directly off to port and telling his father, "then we'll round back near the river and make for the sea, so we may confuse anyone coming after us."

Thomar looked unsure, "Var...," he said softly, his eyes full of conflict, "I...I d-don't want to ask you to leave everything behind f-for me," the boy looked away, his hands curling into fists, "But I also don't want y-you to leave."

Varr shook his head, "I'm not going anywhere without you," he said determinedly, "and I made my decision. We're leaving this place. We'll go somewhere where you can be free."

Thomar nodded, "Thank you," he said softly, almost to himself. Varr wanted to reach out and pull him into his arms, kiss him, reassure him that everything would be fine but there was something inside him that was stopping him. Years of holding back and hiding his emotions were showing themselves, and so instead Varr just shouldered the pack of provisions that Ormsama, his old friend, had bestowed upon them.

"Come on," he said, and started towards the woods. They passed dark, boarded up houses and closed pubs. One home was burned down and with a clenched heart Varr remembered that it hadn't been that way the last time he saw it. The arrival of the Killingard had changed this place, always brimming with people and lights, into a ghost town. The two were silent as they entered the woods, Thom lost in his thought and Varr alert to every movement and sound. The trees seemed to have eyes and the man's hair was standing on end. Normally he wouldn't be this worried  - he could hold his own. He could change into a bird, into a wolf, and escape if anybody tried to attack him. But now he had Thomar with him, and he felt fiercely protective over him. 

They went on for some time, going deeper and deeper into the woods, their feet crunching in the snow. It grew darker around them, the moon peaking shyly from between the bare tree branches. It stopped snowing and the sky had cleared, though it didn't help Varr's vision much. He was just contemplating whether he should change into an owl and scan the woods to decide whether they should start heading east, when Thomar's freezing cold hand slipped into his own. Varr looked at the boy, surprised, and Thom flushed,

"S-Sorry," he mumbled at Varr's bewildered expression, attempting to pull his hand back. Varr held onto it firmly, warmth spreading into his chest. 

"We'll start heading east at that big oak over there," he said, trying to sound casual even though his heart was pounding. His thumb was subconsciously brushing over the back of Thom's hand, trying to warm it, "there's a cottage not far from here. It's abandoned but we can rest there for some time-"

The whistle of an arrow was enough for Varr to snap into action, and he shoved Thomar to the side just as an arrow spiralled from the darkness, embedding itself in a tree.

"Missed!" someone yelled, their voice echoing through the tree. Someone else laughed,

"We can see!"

Varr drew Thomar close just as people spilled from the trees, laughing and kicking up snow, circling Varr and Thom from all sides. Varr had been to invested in Thom to hear them coming. He counted half a dozen of them, a rough bunch of people of all ages, dressed in stolen pieces of chainmail and old, patched up clothing. Their faces were smeared with mud, their hair greasy. In their hands they carried crude weapons crusted with blood. It wasn't hard to realise who they were - the Killingard.

"I know that one," one of the the men with one shoulder higher than the other stepped forward, pointing a crooked finger at Thomar. In his other hand he carried a scythe taller than everyone present, "He's that Elf boy from the tower."

"Aye, one of the plague," a woman snarled. She had blood paint on her face and a nervous energy about her, "Caragar wants us to bring them back to that tower. Ha!" she spat in the snow, "I say let's kill him right here."

"Ayeee," another one of them hissed, a younger man, knocking a new arrow in his bow, "Kill him as an offering to the Gods."

Only Varr heard Thomar's hysterical intake of breath, and he pulled him into his chest closer, heart pounding, "This is my land! Leave," he growled, "Now!"

Someone laughed, a long, hollow sound that echoed off the trees. Another person in the shadows started dragging their axe over some stones, creating a disgusting, chilling sound that seemed to rake across Varr's brain. 

"We're here to kill!" the young man howled, turning in a circle and staring at the moon with half-crazed eyes, "We are not going to leave! Never! _Never!_ "

"Abandon the boy!" an old woman who looked like a toad demanded, "let us have the dirty scum of the earth and you may go free, Shifter."

"There's no point anymore," the man with the uneven shoulders leered, "we have your precious tower, you have nowhere to go."

"Give us the nurturer!" an old man with one eye agreed, swinging his axe through the air, "Give him to us! Give him up! Give him up! Give him  _up_!"

Faster than any of them could follow, Varr lunged forward and halfway through the air he changed into a wolf. The man in front of him only had time to let his smile drop before Varr tackled him to the ground, powered by his all-consuming fury, his powerful jaws closing around the man's neck and ripping out a chunk of it. Varr's mouth was filled with delicious, hot blood but the meat tasted rotten so Varr jumped off the man, leaving him convulsing on the snow, eyes wide, blood gushing out from his wound. 

The blood-paint woman wailed, and threw herself not at Varr but at Thomar. The Elf's reflexes kicked in as he stumbled away from her, so her knife cut through nothing. She roared in rage. The man with the bow let lose another arrow but he wasn't very good and the thing landed harmlessly in the snow. The other members of the Killingard finally moved, charging at Varr and Thomar. Varr's blood coursed fast and hot through his veins. He saw Thomar stumbled towards the scythe next to the corpse of its owner, and Varr himself threw himself at the blood-paint woman running after the Elf. However she saw him coming and Varr felt an explosion of pain in his shoulder when she swiped her knife through his fur. He yelped, and she pushed him to the side. The old woman morphed into a raven and took to the air to start viciously pecking at Thomar, who was swinging the scythe around blindly. By sheer luck he managed to drive the pointed end into the side of the archer's head, and the man crumbled to the ground. 

The blood-paint woman grabbed Varr by the scruff and lifted her knife but the man forced his body to morph into a butterfly, and he easily escaped from her as she bellowed in rage. In the air Varr changed into a falcon and he swooped down onto the raven attacking Thom, gripping her into his talons. They sunk through the feathers and flesh and despite the bird struggling feebly, Varr was stronger. He hurled her at a tree trunk and heard her delicate bird bones shatter. 

Varr landed in the snow next to Thom back as a human, breathless. There were still members of the Killingard left and Varr was feeling light-headed from all his shifts and the blood gushing from his wound, though he couldn't feel any pain. He slumped against Thomar as the dizziness made his vision blurry.

"Varr!" Thom sounded panicked, "Varr, stand up!"

"He can't help you now boy," the blood-pain woman snarled, advancing on them with her knife.

Varr took a deep breath and tried to step in front of Thom despite his pounding head, determined to protect him. The Elf pushed him to the side and held the scythe steadily in his hand,

"I'll kill you if you come any closer," he stated. The man with one shoulder higher than the other croaked out a laugh,

"You don't have the guts,  _Elf."_

Thomar shocked everyone by proving him wrong and swinging the scythe, severing his head from his body in one clean movement. The second the corpse hit the ground in two pieces, the head rolling grotesquely, Thom dropped the scythe, his eyes wide and hands shacking. The blood-paint woman screeched and charged, but by then Varr had gathered enough strength that he managed to push forward and kick her legs from underneath her. She was sent sprawling, her knife skittering from her hand and across the snow. Thomar snapped into action and he and the last man left went racing after it as Varr pinned the woman to the snow. She was trying to fight him, thrashing around wildly like a madwoman. Varr tried to remember what his father taught him -  _grab the neck at the side with one hand, and at the back with the other, and twist._ He did just that, ignoring the building up pulsing pain in his shoulder. A loud crack indicated that the woman was dead but Varr didn't have the stomach to look at her as she went limp in his grasp. 

Disgusted, the man got up. Thomar and the last man were some way off, just two shadows. Varr's stomach plummeted and his head was filled with panic as he blindly ran towards them. He got there just in time to see Thom strike forward like a serpent, sliding the blood-paint woman's knife across the last man's throat. A waterfall of red slid down the man's chest as he clawed at his throat. Thom looked away, eyes squeezed shut as the man crashed to the ground. 

Varr whirled around, ready to fight whoever else was trying to harm them, adrenaline thrumming through his body, almost palpable. The woods were silent and dark, the bodies of the Killingard sprawled around like rag dolls, the ground crimson with their blood.

Thomar let out a heartbroken, shaky sob and Varr turned to him. The Elf was staring at the man he just killed, his blood-stained hands covering his mouth. Varr slumped as the adrenaline eased out of him. He pulled Thom shakily into his arms and clung onto him, gasping for breath. He was suddenly hyper-aware of everything around him. His breath came out freakishly loud, his arms were shaking. The cold bit at his exposed face and hands. Thom felt fragile and small in his arms, and he was trembling like a leaf on the wind. He was so, so warm.

A shot of pain erupted from Varr's shoulder through his whole body and the man doubled over, almost blinded by the pain. His whole body convulsed and then burned. His vision went blurry and Thomar was shouting at him, but he sounded far away.  _Do not pass out,_ Varr told himself sternly,  _you can't pass out._

"Varr, Varr talk to me," Thomar's voice came back into focus. Varr gripped his shoulders and gritted his teeth, trying to fight the pain,

"I'm fine," he hissed. 

"Sit down, here by the tree," Thom was talking but Varr couldn't really focus on anything but the pain searing through his body. He felt the rough bark of the tree through his cloak, and Thomar's face swam in and out of vision. He really did look like an angel, even with blood on his cheeks from where he touched them with his bloodied fingers. Those same fingers were now opening Varr's shirt, exposing the wound on his shoulder to the cold wind that the Shifter couldn't feel anyway. Varr looked down at his shoulder and frowned, trying to force his eyes to focus. He saw a long bloody gash, oozing liquid down his chest. He heard Thomar swear and then the boy reached down and ripped a strip off of his own shirt with shaking hands. He looked paler than usual,

"It's alright," he told Varr gently, though his voice was trembling, "I'm going to b-bind your wound, just don't move."

Varr's head was spinning, he could feel the heat coming off of his wound. He hissed when he felt a sudden sting on it when Thomar pressed some fresh snow against it. The second he made the noise Thom kissed him, effectively taking Varr's mind even slightly off of the pain. It turned to a dull throb as Thom cupped his face, pressing their foreheads together.

"You'll be alright," he whispered, almost like a prayer. 

"I'll be alright," Varr's head was clearing. He even managed a weak smile as Thomar carefully wrapped up his wound. Varr felt like they were too far apart and he drew the surprised boy into his arms. He didn't feel the cold around him, just the heat from the wound and Thom's warm body against his. He forgot about the corpses lying around them as he stroked Thomar's cheek, just marvelling at the fact that they were both still alive. Their mortality had never been so clear to Varr as just then, when they had almost been murdered, "You did well Tommy," he murmured gently. Thom's eyes fluttered shut as he wrapped his arms around Varr's shoulders. 

"I love you," he whispered, and it sounded almost like a whimper. Varr kissed him with a sudden desperation. It was all too much, he felt crushed just thinking about the fact that the forest that he grew up in was full of cold-blooded killers who were out to kill the boy he loved. But he felt so  _alive_ right now in Varr's arm, warm and shaking, his lips trembling against Varr's. It was impossible to imagine him as one of the dead in the snow.

Thomar pulled away from Varr violently, eyes wide, "Varr we have to go back," he said breathlessly. The tip of his nose was red from the cold and Varr wanted to kiss it. 

"No," he said, "We have to leave."

"No, listen to me," Thom gripped his face, "They said that they had the tower. T-That means...," his voice faltered, but he didn't need to finish. Varr's family flashed in his head - his father, the guards, the Bastards. He felt fury build up inside of him and he stood up abruptly, Thomar sliding off of him. He winced at the sudden pain in his shoulder but ignored it,

"I'll turn to a wolf," he told Thomar in his no-nonsense voice, "I'll heal faster that way." He took the boys hands in his own, "Tommy listen to me. Your best chance is to go back to the Veiled Lady, wait for me there-"

"No," Thomar said softly. Varr leaned his head against his shoulder and took a shaky breath, composing himself. He didn't want to leave Thomar alone, but he didn't want him coming to a death trap either. But in the end it was the Elf's decision. Varr squeezed his hands, kissed his shoulder, and then shifted into a wolf. 

***

From outside the Tower looked abandoned. The windows were dark apart from the dorm room and the great hall, the gates swung wide open. Varr and Thomar crept out of the woods and immediately ducked into the shadow of the wall to prevent anybody standing behind the dark glass from seeing them. Varr concentrated and changed into a fly. He caught sight of Thomar's shocked face before he flew up in the air silently. He didn't like to be things that small since they made his brain feel to big for his body, but the fly was enough to allow him to see that the courtyard was unguarded. Clearly the Killingard wasn't expecting any reinforcements to come and save the Bastards, and the lack of horses and carriages indicated that the guests must've left. Varr didn't know why. He didn't think in the short time that he was gone so much would change, and yet now his home was under siege. 

He landed back next to Thomar as a human again.

"The courtyard's abandoned," he said softly, "the client's have left. The Killingard must either be in the dorm room or the great hall."

"We should split," Thomar said softly, "That way we'll find them easier."

"No," Varr said immediately, "They want you, they won't harm me. We should stay together and-"

"You're right," Thomar's eyes widened suddenly, "They mentioned that they didn't want to harm 'their people' which means that...," his eyes turned to the golden glow coming from the dorm room, "I think that's where they put everyone who isn't a Nurturer," he whispered. Varr followed his gaze and swallowed hard - it made sense. The Killingard were only here to kill the Nurturers, they made so much clear.

"I don't want to leave you," Varr said softly.

"There's no time," Thomar murmured, surprisingly fierce, "They're probably in the mess hall preparing the Bastards for slaughter a-and you're their only chance. I'm going to go upstairs and free everyone in the dorm rooms, we'll take them by surprise."

Varr knew Thomar was right. Gods, he knew that but the idea that he'd have to split from the Elf was unbearable. Thom didn't look too happy with having to leave Varr either. The Shifter pulled him close and kissed his forehead. The boy was warm, alive, at least for now.

"If they see you I want you to run," he whispered, "No matter what. Don't try to be a hero. You need to save yourself, alright?"

Instead of replying Thomar just gripped his face and pulled him down to slot their mouths together. Varr hated to thin that it could be their last kiss,  _refused_ to think that. 

They crept through the courtyard, dashing from the stables, to the barrels full of water, to the entrance. The front door had been open, not kicked in, which was unsettling. Inside the hall was pitch black, all the candles put out. Moonlight fell in from the large window, illuminating part the staircase. A golden glow came down the corridor leading to the mess hall and muffled voices could be heard from there. Varr's heart felt heavy. He wanted to hold Thomar again, tell him he loved him, but he was scared if he touched the boy again he wouldn't be able to let him go again, so with his stomach all in knots he watched as the boy broke away from him and silently climbed up the stairs. His hair flashed silver in the moonlight for a split second and then he was gone.

Varr turned towards the mess hall. Mid step he turned into a cockroach. Again, his brain seemed too big for his body, and his emotions did too, bearing down on him. He skittered across the floor, wanting to get out of that Shift as fast as possible. He slipped into the mess hall undetected and the relief he felt almost made him switch back to human. The Bastards were all still alive, sitting hunched around a table, surrounded by at least two dozen Killingard, pointing swords and crossbows at them. Varr's cockroach eyes slid over his family, and with each face his heart got a bit lighter.

Leophinia and Halisen were sitting in the middle, side by side, arms crossed, glaring defiantly at the man who was talking to them. His voice sounded too-loud, booming inside Varr's small head. Both Leo and Hal had fresh bruises on their cheeks, undoubtedly from some form of insurgence against the Killingard. Vern was sitting close to Leophinia, her arm wrapped around Danfrea who seemed too terrified to cry, staring fixedly at the floor. Arfer was slumped against Hal, looking dazed, a cut on his cheekbone crusted with blood. Risja and Wilawil were not in the hall, but that was because they were human, Varr knew that. 

"Two of you are missing!" the blurry man shouted, "Where are they?!  _Where?!"_

The pressure in Varr's head got too much, and mixed with the man's voice it was unbearable. He scuttled back out of the room and into the cold, dark hallway, where he changed back to human in the shadow of the stairs. His shoulder was throbbing and his arm felt heavy.  _Chardwen isn't dead,_ somehow Varr knew that. The man said that two were missing - that must've meant Thom and Dwen. If the nymph hadn't been killed by the Killingard then it meant he must be hiding somewhere. The problem was that Varr didn't have time to search the whole tower, and Chardwen could be  _anywhere._

A memory flashed in Varr's head, from not too long ago, though it seemed like a lifetime had passed since them. Arfer and Lese sitting side by side among barrels, eyes red, laughing like children. If Varr wanted to hide he'd go down to the cellar, that was the safest place - you could hide behind barrels or the shelves. There was a hidden door at the back leading into the woods. With a newfound determination that came from having a purpose, Varr pushed himself out of the shadows. He passed down the dark corridor where all the torches were extinguished and entered the kitchen. It was silent, chilly and empty, though someone had clearly looted the cupboards. It felt horrible knowing that someone invaded Varr's home. 

The man turned back and opened the door where steep steps led down to the cellar. At the bottom Varr couldn't see  _anything._ With no sound he shrunk down to a cat, and immediately everything sharpened into focus - shelves full of jars of spare food, bunches of dry herbs, big chunks of meat hanging from the ceiling, and no Chardwen. Varr tried not to feel disappointed as he turned to the shut door to the wine cellar. He pawed at it and it sprung open surprisingly easily, as if nobody had bothered to lock it. 

Beyond it was more darkness, and a figure slumped again barrels.

"Who is it?" Chardwen demanded and Varr could've passed out from relief. Instead he shifted back into human.

"It's me Dwen."

" _Varr_!?" Chardwen asked in breathless disbelief. Varr blinked, trying to get his human eyes to adjust to the darkness, "What the hell?! We thought you  _died!_ Did you find Thom?"

Varr blindly found his way to the Bastard and knelt next to him, "Aye, he's upstairs. Gods, how long have you been down here?"

"I don't know. Hours maybe. Untie me."

Varr felt in the dark for Dwen's hands, and felt the hempen rope wrapped around his wrists. He frowned,

"Who did this?" he demanded as he started to deftly undo the knots.

"The Thyar Bryary delegation."

"What?" Varr asked duly. He had learned so much that night that his brain felt ready to implode. Chardwen proceeded to explain to him how Adrael Charheredan was really a man named Thris, a member of the Killingard, and how he spared Chardwen by leaving him tied up in the cellar instead of bringing him upstairs. As Varr freed his friend he in turn explain to him where he and Thom had gone, and what happened in the woods.

"What do we do now?" Chardwen asked as they sat in the darkness, side by side, "the Tower is overrun with the Killingard. There's at least two dozen of them, they have weapons-"

"We can't give up our home," Varr said sternly, standing up. Thomar was probably upstairs, trying to free his father and the others, "We have to fight them, I don't know how but we do."

"Alright," Chardwen stood up, "Alright, you're right. What do I do?"

"I'll return to the hall," Varr said, "distract them. You go upstairs and help Thomar free the others. Surprise is our biggest advantage."

Chardwen didn't need to be told twice. Quiet as two mice, the men climbed back out of the cellar. It all felt quite surreal, like a dream. Varr never thought he'd be creeping through his house with Chardwen of all people.

They heard voices in the kitchen and had to hide in one of the bath rooms when a pair of the Killingard walked past. Yet somehow they made it to the staircase without being caught, which was near a miracle since the Killingard were crawling around like ants. Varr knew they were in a trap, but they had the advantage - the Killingard had chosen to fight them on their own ground.

When they reached the stairs, Chardwen suddenly pulled Varr into a hug.

"I'll see you at the end," he told him determinedly, like a promise, and Varr was glad for it as he embraced Chardwen back, if just for a moment. He hadn't realised how much he needed human contact until then. How much he needed people. He wanted to hold Thom again. 

"Go," Varr whispered. Chardwen nodded once and then dashed up the stairs and Varr turned back to the mess hall. He curled his hands into fists, took a deep breath, and decided not to second guess his decision. That would just cause him to doubt himself and he couldn't afford that right now. So strode right into the middle of the mouse trap, this time as a human. 


	13. The Honourable Ones

** **

**-THRIS-**

He quite wanted to run away. Thris had never been one to back down, even when he had just been a scrawny, freckled child out on the war-ravaged streets, fighting over scraps of food with other commoners. When he killed his first person he didn't break down or cry - he buried the body so it didn't contaminate the air. After the Killingard recruited him he didn't turn away from them, even when he saw the way they treated Nurturers. He had no honour, never had, but he never backed down either. And yet now he wanted to run so badly that he could barely stand still. 

 _Caragar's orders,_ Auri had said when she found him slumped in the kitchen, plagued with guilt over leaving Chardwen tied in the cellar. What if he died of thirst or hunger? What if Thris was killed and nobody found him until he was just bones and ashes? But he had to pretend like no part of the siege had bothered him when Auri came. Thris didn't like her. She was...explosive, unpredictable, half-wild. Her black bangs fell into her eyes, so it was hard to tell what her facial expression was. She was almost foolishly brave, and happy to face death head on. Thris had heard that she believed that the Gods had blessed her, and that she was invincible. Thris just thought she had been very, very lucky that she was still alive. 

Caragar, the mysterious leader of the Killingard that Thris had only glimpsed a handful of times, posted him and Iriro outside the dormroom so they could guard the prisoners inside. To their dismay they found that they couldn't go through the door at first - it had no door knob. But then their inside man appeared - Helmchet Royalf his name was, and he had been at the Tower for years. He walked through the door easily as it turned to smoke around him, and allowed Thris and Iriro inside. The five people in the chamber started screaming at him, and spitting, calling him a traitor, and a bastard, which Thris found ironic. The three of them somehow managed to tie the people to the legs of the beds to prevent escape - the weapons pointed in their faces certainly helped. But the conflict Thris was feeling only intensified when one of the guards willing allowed him to tie him down. 

"Please," he said hoarsely, looking up at Thris with big, pleading green eyes, "I just want to know if Arfer's alright."

Thris' voice died in his throat. He had no idea who Arfer was, or if he was alright, but next to him Iriro - who was tying the only girl to the bed - replied softly,

"He's alive," it was cold and clipped but it gave Thris hope. Out of the whole 'delegation' Iriro was the only one who ever showed the slightest amount of doubt about the whole ordeal, and now seeing her reassure the man, even the smallest bit, made Thris feel a bit lighter, though he didn't know why. It was too late now, the Killingard were everywhere and Thris couldn't go against them. His best chance was to follow orders, collect his coin, and leave for good. If Iriro had second thoughts it was best for her to keep them to herself. 

Helmchet left an hour ago and Iriro and Thris were left guarding the door. Some time earlier one of the other Killingard had dragged the witch that Thris had once fucked upstairs so she could take the spell off the door. Thris didn't think she recognised him, but he turned away anyway. But since then nobody had come, the short stairs leading up to the doors abandoned, the corridor beneath dark and empty. Sullenly Thris watched as torches gutted out one after the other, as if too tired to stay bright. 

"It doesn't feel right," Iriro whispered after what felt like an eternity of silence. She had a crossbow in her hand, and bolts strapped to the heavy belt around her waist. 

"I know," Thris said quietly. He wanted to reassure the girl that she wasn't the only one doubting her goal. Thris wished he had never taken this job, and yet that would've meant that he would have never met Chardwen. A pang went through him when he imagined the man somewhere down below, cold and afraid. Iriro was sitting on the top step, running her hand through her tightly curled, short black hair methodically, as if trying to distract herself. Thris stood over her, his hand resting on the sword at his hip. Since the Killingard's arrival, he had changed from Adrael Charheredan's expensive, fine clothes into a pair of black breeches and a white shirt. he had a woollen cloak over his shoulders, though no chain mail since the Killingard didn't have enough to go around. Besides it didn't matter - as soon as they found the missing Elf boy Caragar would probably start the massacre. There would be no fighting, the Killingard already won, and nobody would stop them no matter what the outcome of the resigning of the Decree at dawn would be. By dawn they'd be gone, leaving only corpses behind.

Something flashed at one end of the corridor, and Thris automatically straightened up, alert. Iriro scrambled to her feet, crossbow raised.

"Who's there?!" she demanded. Thris wasted no time as he pounded down the short stone steps and dashed to the darkness beyond. He heard footsteps running away in the darkness and then a figure sprinting past a square of moonlight near a window. With his heart in his throat Thris ran after the person, his breath abnormally loud in his ears. He thought he lost the boy when he dashed around the corner, only to find that he was lost in a trap. The corridor ended at a door, but it was clearly locked.

Thris raised his sword and swallowed, "You're one of the Bastards," he stated. The white-haired boy in front of him looked at his with big, scared eyes.

"Y-You're a L-Lord-" he stuttered. Thris grabbed him by the wrist and the boy tried to fight him feebly. There was a knife by his belt and Thris quickly pulled it out, shoving it into his boot.

"I'm a member of the Killingard," he growled, anger flaring. _I am not Adrael, I am not Adrael,_ he repeated to himself, "And you're the lost Bastard,"  _Maybe Caragar can start now, and they'll forget about Chardwen,_ "You're supposed to be downstairs."

The Elf tried to kick Thris but the man just angrily spun him around so he had the boy's back against his chest, an arm around his throat,

"Stop fighting," he growled again, and the boy went limp in his grasp though Thris could still feel his chest rising and falling rapidly with each near-hysterical breath. Iriro came pounding down the corridor, crossbow raised. Her eyes widened when she saw Thris and the Elf,

"That's Thomar Sung-Orah," she stated breathlessly, "He's the son of the Queen."

"I don't care who he is," Thris spat, "We need to get him downstairs."

He pushed Thomar down the hallway, Iriro walking backwards still pointing her crossbow at the Elf, though her hands were trembling and she looked unsure. Thris doubted she'd be able to shoot the Elf if it came down to it, he just looked too harmless. His white hair and pale blue, scared eyes made him look like an angel and even Thris felt bad as he roughly pushed him along. 

"We should put him in the dorm room," Iriro stated, "and I'll go downstairs to inform Caragar."

"It would be better to just take him straight down," Thris argued, but he felt like Thomar was a calf and he was taking him to the slaughter, especially when the boy started trying to fight him again feebly. _Your death will be quick,_ Thris wanted to tell him but instead he tightened his arm around the boy's throat as they rounded the corridor, and then he froze. 

At first he thought he saw a ghost because it  _couldn't be._ And yet as he inhaled sharply and Iriro raised her bow, Thris realised that it was real. At the foot of the steps stood Chardwen, with his messy hair and his angry eyes. 

"Dwen," Thris whispered. He must've loosened his grip because Thomar roughly ripped his arm away, stumbling away from him and towards Chardwen. Thris didn't even try to catch the Elf as Chardwen pulled him close, bewildered and alert and wild-looking. Iriro looked between them, felt the tension in the air, and lowered her crossbow. Thris couldn't help but stare. He was glad to see Dwen, and see that he was alive and well but...he was out in the Tower full of his enemies, where anyone could murder him, "I-I told you to stay down there."

Chardwen strode towards him and nobody tried to stop him as he curled his hand into a fist and punched Thris straight in the face. The man barely felt the pain as he stumbled back into the wall, dropping his sword. He was still in shock from seeing Dwen out of the cellar. He had no idea how the man had got out.

"You didn't  _tell_ me anything," Dwen hissed, and somehow that hurt more than the pain blooming in Thris' jaw, "all you did was trick me, and lie to me, and tie me up and leave me alone in a cellar to rot."

"I was trying to save you," Thris whispered weakly. All his anger and malice were gone. He just wanted to pull Dwen close and forget the slaughterhouse he found himself in. Iriro didn't say anything. Thomar stared at them, trembling. Chardwen picked up Thris' sword from the ground, 

"I'm going to free my friends," he said, looking from Thris to Iriro, "you have a choice. You can let me and Thom pass in peace, and allow our friends out without alerting the rest of the Killingard. Or you can come with us, prove that you are decent people and help us end the murder that is about to take place on innocent people," his dark eyes snapped to Thris, "or you can prove everything I think about you already - you can prove that you are cruel, heartless beings who sold their souls. If that's the truth then kill me right here, and don't try to fucking spare me while my family's dying."

The silence was almost overbearing. Chardwen's gaze was so intense that Thris couldn't breathe. The easiest way out would be to do nothing, to allow Dwen to pass and risk him getting killed and never seeing that gorgeous smile of his ever again. That was the path that Thris would have chosen - because he was just another grey person, he wasn't brave, or a hero. He did all of this for money. 

And yet he found himself stepping forward. Chardwen didn't flinch when Thris reached out and took his sword back, their hands brushing together, making Thris shiver. Chardwen's gaze never once wavered. 

"I'm sorry," Thris murmured brokenly, "About everything," he sheathed his sword and Dwen exhaled shakily, finally letting his nerves show. Thris turned to Iriro, his heart pounding. The girl was looking at him, confused and hurt and scared, "Iriro," Thris said, as gently as he could, "I'm going to help them. I can't allow the Killingard to murder innocent people. Not anymore."

Iriro shook her head, "I'm with you, no matter what."

Chardwen didn't look at Thris as Iriro led them up the short steps to the door. She pulled out the keys from her pocket and let herself into the room, Thomar following close behind her. Dwen was about to join them when Thris grabbed his wrist,

"Chardwen," he said softly. The Bastard pulled away, but he didn't seem angry, 

"Not now, Thris," he murmured, "We will talk later."

That gave Thris even just a spark of hope that maybe, just maybe, he and Dwen would be alright.

In the dorm-room he found that Iriro and Thomar were bustling around, undoing the binds on the people, lightning fast, clearly aware that they could be caught at any moment. 

"Chardwen!" a redhead girl whisper-yelled, and threw herself at the man. Thris felt a pang of jealousy - something foolish to feel at that moment - and quickly turned away from their fierce embrace. Thomar was in the arms of a boy with hair the same colour as Thris'. Thris tried to busy himself with something so he went over to the green-eyed man from before and started working at his binds,

"Arfer is he-"

"I don't know," Thris snapped, his calm finally breaking. His jaw ached, and he was scared to death, "I don't know anything. Gods this is also so hopeless."

"Why are you helping us?" the redhead girl asked, looking at Thris and Iriro. The girl undid the binds on Padrilon and he rose, towering over her,

"Against popular belief we do have morals," she said softly, "poverty forced us into the Killingard. I never...I-I...," she looked at her hands and swallowed hard, "I never wanted to kill anybody."

"Now is no time for regrets," Thris interrupted, his stomach twisting, "We need to save the ones downstairs."

"I'll go," the green-eyed guard said immediately. Padrilon shook his head,

"Lese, Lenmax, I cannot risk you. You must take Thomar, Risja and Wilawil out."

"No," the guard said fiercely, "I need to find Arty-"

"And I need to find my son," Padrilon said kindly, "And there is no use for us all to die. We will get the others and we will leave," he turned to the dark skinned and light eyed guard, "Take the secret exit in the cellars. Try to cover your tracks. Lenmax you know the way to the country house, go to the town and take horses and a carriage," he pushed a bag of coins into his hands, "in the morn we will meet you there, all of us, together." He seemed so sure and confident that even Thris straightened up, some of his frail hope returning. Yet he couldn't help but think that  _all of us_ didn't include him. He understood though, after all he was the enemy.

"I'm staying," Chardwen said, "I'm no use at protecting anyone. Lese and Lenmax are better at that."

The green eyed guard turned to Chardwen, "Dwen please, make sure Arty-"

"I will," Dwen said firmly. 

"P-Please," the redheaded girl started, "I don't want to leave, not without them-"

"Varr and I came here together, we should leave together too," Thomar added fiercely. Padrilon straightened up, 

"I have never done this," he said, voice powerful, "But I will now, just this once. I am your master and I  _command_ you to leave the Tower immediately."

Thomar looked away, Will reached for Risja's hand, "Aye," he said gloomily.

They all went downstairs together and Thris couldn't believe that it was really happening. They heard voices close by and they seemed to come from everywhere at once, echoing at them through the stone walls. Thris felt on edge, his hand on his sword. He would've reached out at held Chardwen's hand if he didn't think that made him look weak. Instead he mournfully stared at the back of the man's head as they descended, their feet threading softly on the stone floors, all of them holding their breaths and flinching at every sound. With every sluggish second that passed Thris crept closer to the edge - he expected something to go wrong any second. They were wasting so much time.

When they stopped at the point where the hallway forked on the ground floor it was time to say goodbyes. Nobody tried to fight Padrilon's decision anymore, they just silently nodded at each other. The green eyed guard looked towards the mess hall longingly but was pulled to the cellar steps by the redheaded Risja. With his throat tight Varr watched them disappear down into the darkness until it was only him, Iriro, Padrilon and Chardwen left. And still Dwen wouldn't look at him. He had Thomar's stolen knife in his hand.

"Here," Iriro passed one of her spare blades to Padrilon, her crossbow in hand. 

"Hey!" someone shouted, and fear gripped Thris' insides. Without so much as a thought he grabbed Chardwen's wrists and twisted them behind his back. Iriro pushed her crossbow against Padrilon's head as the member of the Killingard came running down the hallway. He had dark stripes on his face, his skin the colour of curdled milk as he glared at Thris and Iriro, "What's going on here?" he demanded, a barbed wire bat in his hand. 

"We found the nymph boy," Thris pushed Chardwen forward and the man stumbled convincingly.

"And this one?" the man gestured at Padrilon,

"Causing trouble," Iriro said in a clipped tone. The man nodded and swung his bat over his shoulder.

"Alright," he said and grinned, "Bring the scum to Caragar, he will have fun with them." 

He shoved past Padrilon, spat at Chardwen's feet, and leisurely continued down the corridor, whistling as if he didn't have a care in the world. Suddenly he turned to the cellar steps and Thris' heart twisted but before he could react one of the bolts in Iriro's crossbow was set loose, and it embedded itself in the back of the man's neck. Silently, he went crashing down the steps. Thris swore,

"I'll hide the body," Iriro said hurriedly, "and join you in a moment."

Before anyone could say anything she ran down the cellar steps. Thris knew they couldn't waste anymore time, the others knew that too. He shakily let go of Chardwen's wrists and stepped back, staring at the ground. He had never been so ashamed of his actions then at that moment as he realised what kind of people the Killingard were. Chardwen was watching him but Thris had more important things to worry about. The three men didn't say anything as they turned towards the mess hall, somewhere Dwen had spent many mornings eating rich food and pretending his name was Adrael Charheredan. Cold sweat ran down his back. 

When they walked into the hall it dawned on Thris that he had made the right decision going against the Killingard. Somewhere at the back of his head he had expected that when the they finally ended the Nurturers they'd give them quick, clean deaths. He was wrong. 

The hall was flooded with light from the hearth and the candles dotted around the room on the tables. At least a dozen Killingard members were in the hall, leaning on walls and sitting on benches, their weapons resting next to them. The witch was on the floor, motionless, the pink haired half breed by her side, bending over her body protectively. The merman was slumped against the table, crusted blood covering one of his cheeks. The nymph next to him had an assortment of bruises on his face. The youngest girl with the silver hair was curled up in the corner, weeping.

All of their heads snapped up when Thris and his companions strode in, weapons in hand. Caragar rose from where he had been sitting, surrounded by a chain of his men. He didn't look like a leader - his face was dirty and wrinkled, his skin weirdly saggy. His matted, tangled hair fell down to his shoulders in a greasy waterfall, mixing with his beard, and he held a crude sword in his hand. The only thing striking about him were his eerie, pale eyes, which fixated right on Thris.

"Lord Othyryth," Caragar croaked, standing up. He slumped like the peasant that he was, but there was something wicked about the way he smiled, "Aye, it's always the honourable ones. Always the honourable ones," he said, almost to himself, "I knew you'd betray your own, Lord Othyryth."

"You couldn't have known that. And I am no Lord," Thris growled, drawing his sword. Caragar laughed, and it sounded like someone had sandpapered his throat. 

"We are all Lords now," the old man's eyes sparkled, "Aye, everybody here. Lord and Ladies, and I am the  _King."_

The Killingard cheered around them, but Thris was focused only on Caragar. He felt like he would faint. The dread coursing through his body made his stomach churn, and his hand was trembling on his sword. He could only hope that the Killingard didn't notice. Looking at the rag-tag group of people around him, emitting hate so strong even someone as closed off as Thris could feel it, he couldn't believe he ever sided with them. But there were many of them, and only three of them. 

"You never said you'd turn this into a slaughter, Caragar," Thris yelled, his voice ringing back at him. Caragar looked around as if only now noticing the room. He had a child-like quality to his expression,

"Slaughter?" he asked curiously, "Well isn't that a thought. I haven't killed anybody yet."

"You're insane," Thris laughed. The nerves were too much, he was beginning to break.

"I'm loyal to my cause, are you?" Caragar asked.

"Your cause isn't  _real!"_ Thris snapped, "The Decree will be resigned at dawn and you know as well as I do that it will be in favour of the Nurturers."

"You are wrong, Lord Othyryth. That only makes our cause stronger, better," Caragar laughed his throaty laugh, "But you are a mere child I have always known that. And a fool too, though I only ever suspected it. Who chooses death over glory and power?"

"We will have no glory or power," Thris said bitterly, "the only thing we'll have is blood on our weapons and a life back on the streets."

"But it's still life isn't it?" Caragar asked, his peculiar eyes sparkling. Thris opened his mouth but a woman stepped forward, wielding a curved scimitar sword. 

"Enough talk," she snapped, "We must begin with the killing!"

"Patience, Lady Iveranti," Caragar smiled, his eyes focused on Thris, "We still haven't introduced our guests to our friend, eh?" The crowd of people parted and Thris heard Padrilon suck in a startled breath, though it was the only indication that he saw what he did. At the back of the hall, with a rope around his neck, stood Varr Padrilon. His lip and nose were bloody, but his feet were still touching the ground though Thris could see Helmchet Royalf in the corner with his hand on a lever, ready to string Varr up like a bird of prey. The worst part were the heavy metal chains around his feet - the Anti Shift chains that prevented him from morphing into something that could help him escape. Thris felt nauseous. 

"Actually," Caragar was clearly enjoying himself, "Lady Iveranti perhaps you are right. We did our waiting, we did our labour, the world belongs to the powerful doesn't it?" He grinned, and then motioned with his hand. In one swift pull of the lever, Varr was up in the air. Padrilon screamed then and it was the most heartbreaking sound that Thris had ever heard. Varr was up in the air, struggling for air as the noose tightened around his throat, his legs kicking at the empty air beneath him. Chardwen started forward but the woman Iveranti pushed him back. 

"No!" Padrilon shouted, "Not my son!  _Not my son!"_ His eyes were wide and full of tears, as if all the emotions he had been holding back for years were spilling out. A crossbow bolt swirled through the air and with startling precision cut through the rope holding Varr up, causing the man to crash to the floor. Thris whirled around and saw Iriro run into the hallway. She took down two of the Killingard before they could even react and Thris was surprised to see Thomar sprint in after her, carrying a damn  _scythe._

Thris had no time to ask him where he got it from because suddenly everyone snapped into action. The hall was filled with a roar as the Killingard charged and Thris was swept right in the middle of it all. He raised his sword and Iveranti's own sword slammed against it, causing him to stumble back. And yet Thris held his own, shutting off the rest of the hall, striking and parrying against the woman, dancing the deadly steel dance. It all happened so fast that he could barely think. But she was good, horribly so, and she had on a chainmail shirt, meaning Thris' sword slid harmlessly off of her whenever he tried to slice her. Thris knew he would be unable to beat her, but just when he was getting dangerously close to a wall with nowhere to back up, she went down. Behind her stood the pink-haired girl, a chair raised over her head. The second Iveranti was down she picked up her sword and stabbed her furiously,

"That's for hurting Vern you evil bitch!" she spat. Thris didn't have anymore time to watch her take her anger out on Iveranti's body because a man was charging at him with a spear. Thris' world was blurry as he fought him, stabbing the man through the gut. Some of his hot blood fell on his hand and splattered his face, and then he was fighting another person. Years of fighting on the streets and being trained in the cold, muddy Killingard camp kicked in. Around Thris Bastards were battling the Killingard with weapons they picked off the dead, but he had no way of telling which side was winning. He saw Thomar swinging his scythe blindly, taking down half a dozen people at once, Chardwen was a flurry of movements, a knife in his hand as he stabbed the Killingard around him. The young girl Danfrea was dashing beneath people's arms, stabbing at their armpits and dancing away before they caught her. Some of the Shifters had changed into wolves or bears, and where barrelling through tables and chairs.

Thris realised that no matter how long and fiercely they fought, they had no chance when a new wave of the Killingard, attracted by the noise, spilled inside the mess hall, full of energy and strength. Thris felt all optimism leave him as they swept the room, but he decided that he'd die fighting.  _It's always the honourable ones,_ Caragar had said. Well for once in his life Thris would do something with honour, even if it was dying. He only wished that he could have Chardwen's forgiveness before he went down.

He felt the sudden ache in his arms, the sweat on his forehead, he was aware of his breath as he cut down another man from the Killingard. Yet more kept coming, on and on, and Thris couldn't keep up. A man knocked him to the ground and he barely felt when his head hit the wood. An axe shone in his view as the man raised it, and then suddenly, in a blink of an eye, everything changed. 

The ground rumbled violently, the man dropped his axe and it bounced harmlessly next to Thris' head. Thris stared up at the wooden ceiling, heart hammering at his chest and in his head at once. There was a flash, and Thris' ears started ringing. He forced himself to sit up and he saw the witch hovering in the air, her eyes burning white with fury. Her hands were curled like claws, as she muttered under her breath. He had thought she was dead, but Thris had never seen someone so alive than her at that moment.

"Stop the Nurturer!" Caragar bellowed, but a tendril of light shot out of the witch's hands and wrapped around his neck. The man rose in the air, chocking and clawing at the light like an imitation of what Varr had been doing moments ago, his chilling eyes bulging. Thris couldn't breathe as he watched the man struggle, almost like it was him. With a below Helmchet hurled herself at the witch. She shrieked, high pitched and powerful enough that the windows shattered, spewing glass onto the people below. Another flash knocked Thris down to the ground. He pressed his face against the wood as a howling wind ripped at his hair and clothes. A roaring filled his ears and he just wanted it to  _end._ He felt like the air was trying to rip him apart, and yet he clung on desperately. 

The wind died away after what seemed like an eternity, Thris struggled to sit up once more, his head spinning, his stomach protesting. He felt weirdly warm, his body shaking. There was blood on his shirt but he was sure it wasn't his. He blinked and looked at the room. The witch was slumped on the floor in a ring of ashes, and apart from the Bastards, Padrilon and Varr, everyone else was gone.  _She vaporised them,_ Thris realised, his head pounding. He had never seen such power. He didn't understand why witches hadn't taken over the world yet. Everything was shaky. 

" _Vern!"_ the pink haired girl screamed and she ran towards the witch and collapsed next to her. She gathered the girl in her arms and ignoring the deadly power the girl carried inside of her she kissed her, as if it was just the two of them in the world. Thris blinked, though the movement felt sluggish. Everyone was gaping at nothing in particular, in shock, their faces streaked with dirt.  _It's over..._ Thris saw Thomar crawl over to Varr and wrap his arms around the man, pressing kisses all over his face and crying. The Bastards picked themselves up as if they couldn't quite believe that they were alive. Snowflakes swirled in through the glass-less windows. There was ash in the air, and everything smelled like smoke.

"There's a fire," Thris murmured weakly. Suddenly there were arms around him, and the man blinked, surprised when he felt Chardwen pull him against his chest, holding him as if afraid to let go. His hand gripped the back of Thris' head and the man could do little more than slump against Dwen, fisting his hands in his shirt. He smelled familiar, and warm. Thris felt tears prick at his eyes. The last of his strength left him, the relief that washed over him almost made him pass out, "Dwen," he croaked.

"Shh, shh, don't talk," Chardwen whispered, hugging him harder, "Just...J-Just let me hold you."

"We need to go to town and get a carriage!" Padrilon commanded. 

"There's a fire!" someone else screamed, "Gods there's a fire!"

Everything Thris heard was as if through deep, deep water. 

"Thris?" Chardwen's voice was muffled, " _Thris!"_

Thris pulled away so he could look at him, but Dwen's face was blurry. Thris frowned as the pounding in his head intensified, "I think I'm bleeding," he whispered, and then the world faded out out of focus, and beyond it was just darkness.

 


	14. The End

** **

**-ARFER-**

The sky was brightening when the Padrilon country house finally came into view. Arty had been leaning his head against the carriage window, watching the world sluggishly pass by. He was...scared, traumatised, confused, tired. Seeing his home go up in flames...it was heart-wrenching. And yet nobody had died - at least nobody Arty loved or cared about. They all came out with scrapes and bruises and scars that you could see and some that you couldn't, but nobody had died and for that Arty was thankful. The Killingard's bodies had gone up in smoke, every reminder of them gone.  

Every inch of the merman's body hurt. He ached for a warm bath, he wanted to give his body time to heal. They had messily patched themselves up in town before Padrilon hurriedly urged them into two carriages he had bought. That had been hours ago, and since then Arfer had fallen asleep, and woken up, and fallen asleep again. His cheek throbbed where the bolt from the girl's - Nalia's - crossbow had slashed it. There'd be a scar, they told him. He didn't care. Nalia was probably dead by now. Arfer wondered if he was a bad person for hoping that she was. 

Apart from the cut Arfer could feel multiple bruises blooming, especially on his ribs where one of the Killingard had kicked him when he had disobeyed. Everything that happened in the hall was a bit of a mess inside Arty's head. The Killingard did a lot of shouting and laughing and waving their weapons about. Their leader had preached about why Arfer and the other Bastards had no right to exist, how they were the 'plague on the world.' Then Varr had come in, and he had shouted at the leader that what he was doing was wrong, and disgusting, but the men had ganged up on him. He held his own for some time, but he didn't even have a weapon. Then they dragged Cvernia to the middle of the room and tried to get her to perform magic to amuse them and when she refused, they beat her savagely until all of the Bastards were crying. Then many things happened - Chardwen and Padrilon had come in with the person who was supposed to be Lord Adrael but turned out to be someone called Thris. There was a fight. That part was the messiest, Arty remembered hitting people, then picking up someone's sword, stabbing someone. 

Then Cvernia had shown them the magic the Killingard wanted to see so badly and blasted them all into ashes. The fire had started then, and it was more chaos. Thris was badly hurt, Chardwen had hoisted him into his arms. By the time the Bastards had spilled outside most of the tower was going up in smoke, and the Killingard trapped on the upper floors were screaming. And now Arfer was here, in the carriage, and it was unbearably quiet. His nerves were frayed. Next to him sat Halisen and Danfrea, and they had fallen asleep almost immediately after coming into the carriage, and hadn't woken since. At first Arty had felt awkward because Varr and Thomar were sitting across from him, constantly touching or kissing, whispering to each other softly. All of it was reminding Arfer that he didn't know where Lese was. Both he, Lenmax, Risja and Will could be anywhere. They could have been killed by the Killingard when they tried to escape the Tower, or they could have gotten lost and frozen to death. They might've never made it to the house, and now that it rose in the distance the possibility settled in. It was smaller than the White Tower but still had three floors and an attic. The walls were a pale yellow, the red roof blanketed in snow. White fields stretched on for miles around, and pale pink cherry trees trees grew in the large garden around the mansion. 

The lights were on in several windows and Arfer's heart jumped.  _It could be the servants,_ he told himself shakily, but that didn't stop him from pressing his nose against the window of a carriage, anxious to get out and see his friends.

"What is it?" Danfrea mumbled, finally waking up. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, her hair messy.

"We're here," Arfer murmured, trying to keep his voice steady. As the carriages rolled in through the beautiful black gates Danny woke the others in the carriage but Arty didn't even look at them as he desperately tried to spot anybody and everybody at once.  _Gods please let them be here. Let him be here._ They hadn't even had their kiss. The second the carriage came to a halt in the snow filled courtyard, Arfer was stumbling out, his boots sinking into the snow. He was so nervous he felt sick, and didn't feel the pain in his body or his exhaustion anymore. The carriages had stopped a good way from the actual entrance of the house, and as the others started coming out Arfer started walking forward hesitantly, towards the house, his heart in his throat. 

The front door opened, but Arfer was too far away to see who stood in it, and it was too dark around him, the sky only just turning from onyx to dark blue, the stars winking out. Arty wanted to shout out to the person, wanted to move, but for some reason he found himself frozen. Dawn was approaching and his hands were trembling, he could hear people behind him as they shouted out commands and orders. There were people running out of the house and Arty's heart felt like it was beating too hard and not at all at once. 

The servants rushed past him, several stopping to ask if he was alright. Arfer didn't reply, still couldn't move, and he watched the servants carry Thris' body into the house and all he could think about as more and more of unknown faces rushed past was that _they're not here._  

"Arty?" he was pushing past the servants dashing in and out of the house, and for a moment Arfer couldn't concentrate on his face. He realised it was because his tears were making everything blurry, " _Arfer!"_ Lese shouted and he jumped off the porch and sprinted though the snow. 

"Lese," Arfer whispered, and it was so soft he himself didn't even hear it, though Lese didn't seem to care as he finally closed the distance between them. He wrapped his arms around the boy and lifted him easily. Arfer was shaking so badly he couldn't do more than wrap his legs around Lese's waist as the man held him up. He felt so light as all the guilt and regret and pain left him that he just crashed their lips together without even thinking about it, and Lese responded immediately, kissing Arfer the way the boy had wished he had for so long - heatedly and passionately but with an underlying softness that nearly broke Arty's heart.  

"Gods, you're alright," Lese whispered feverishly when the two broke apart a mere inch, breathing the same air, "You're alright."

Arfer's trembling hands came up to cup Lese's rough cheeks to make sure he didn't pull away, "O-Of course I'm alright," he murmured shakily, and then laughed helplessly. He couldn't help it, the happiness he felt was almost too much. Lese let him down to the ground and folded him into his arms. He wasn't wearing the cloak but seemed to have forgotten about the cold as he pressed his forehead against Arfer's, stroking his cheeks and staring at him as if he couldn't quite believe he was real. Arty stood on his tiptoes and kissed him again. Lese was warmer than anything Arty remember, or maybe that's just because he was incredibly cold. His beard rubbed against Arfer's jaw but the Bastard didn't care. Standing there in the snow with Lese holding him Arfer thought he couldn't get happier. All those years of holding back his emotions and pushing Lese away came crashing down onto the boy along with his tears. He didn't understand why it took him so long to come to terms with his feelings - it ended up with them all nearly dying to make him realise that he couldn't live apart from Lese anymore. It didn't matter that he was a whore and Lese wasn't allowed to touch him, nothing matter anymore except that they were alive, and together. 

"I'm sorry I called you big-ears all those times," Lese whispered, which Arfer found hilarious for some reason. 

"I don't care," he was grinning. 

"I love your ears," Lese whispered. Arfer's smile melted off of his face, and so did his heart in his chest. 

"I love you," he blurted before he could stop himself, but the smile that appeared on Lese's face was worth it,

"I love you too."

"Arfer!" another scream echoed back to Arty, breaking through the daze he felt since he kissed Lese. The boy turned in the guard's arms and saw Risja and Wilawil sprinting through the snow. He didn't have time to move as the girl came barrelling at him, almost knocking him over, throwing her arms around him and kissing him all over furiously,

"We thought you died!" she sobbed, "We thought you all died!"

"We're alright," Leophinia came over, her hand in Vern's. The other Bastards followed and Lese extracted himself from Arty and pulled away. Arfer looked at him quizzically, already feeling horribly empty without him, but Lese just smiled as the Bastards filled in around the merman. 

"The tower burned down though," Danfrea whispered.

"Fuck the tower," Halisen was grinning, his eyes mossy green with pure happiness, "fuck everything. We're alive, all of us."

No more had to be said as the Bastards fell into each other's arms, clinging onto each other furiously. Even Thomar was there, part of them now. And they were all laughing, and crying, and clinging onto each other. Arfer felt dizzy with happiness, in the arms of his family. It was everything he ever wanted. The sun was rising slowly, the snow beginning to sparkle in the shy sunlight. 

**-VARR-**

The countryside house was smaller than the White Tower so Padrilon suggested that they all sleep in two's if possible. Almost nobody wanted to be alone, not after everything that happened - Helmchet's betrayal, the Killingard's attack, the Tower burning, it was all too much. 

Varr was exhausted - he had a red burn around his neck from the rope he had been strung on, and despite Vern fixing his broken nose every other part of him still seemed to throb with pain. All he wanted to do was crawl into one of the beds and fall asleep. 

But then of course there was Thomar. He looked half asleep on his feet as the nurse from the house checked his cuts and bruises, but he seemed alright. Looking at him Varr still couldn't comprehend how brave the boy was. Despite being offered a way out he had willingly returned to the great hall to fight, and he and his insane scythe had taken out a lot of the Killingard. Varr had spent hours in the carriage with Thom, holding him, kissing him, and yet he still couldn't get enough. He couldn't seem to stop touching the boy, he held his hand while he was being treated, kissed him after everyone was reunited, and when his father had gave him a warm hug, the most affectionate thing he had  in years, and had advised everyone to go to sleep, Varr had pulled Thom upstairs with him. 

Varr liked the house, though he hadn't come here for years. It was cosy and comfortable, most of the walls lined with sunny yellow wallpaper. He had pulled a quiet Thom up to the third floor where his old bedroom was. Varr was surprised to see that it still had his wooden boats and maps of the world from where he had wanted to become a pirate on the walls, but the sheets were fresh and pure white, just like Thomar when Varr pushed him down onto them. 

They kissed as the sun rose, filling the room with a golden light. Their love making in the Veiled Lady seemed to have happened years ago, to different people. Back then they had been half crazed with sex and sudden love confessions, and they wanted to...what? Run away together, get married and live among the sheep until they died? Honestly, to Varr that didn't sound too bad. But staying in his childhood home with the boy he loved seemed even better. 

Varr ended their passionate kiss and pulled away so he could look at Thomar with a small smile, brushing his hair from his forehead gently. His hair looked like corn in the sunlight, not white like it usually did.

"What?" Thomar asked softly, his lips pulling into a small smile too. They had short baths earlier, and Thomar's hair was fluffy against the pillows, his eyes bright but tired. He was dressed in one of Varr's old, black shirts, and Varr couldn't stop looking at the pale collarbone peeking out from underneath it. He leaned down and kissed it, and then kissed up Thom's snowy neck,

"I love you, Tommy," he whispered against his jaw, "and I'll love you tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after too. And if you still want to run away then we can, but we can stay too because I'll never let anyone else touch you."

Thomar didn't say anything, just looked up at him, looking warm and content, "I should've known you were the wolf," he said. Varr smiled, warmth trickling into his chest,

"Aye," he threaded his fingers through Thom's and pressed their hands down onto the pillows, "I don't care that you lied about running away."

"I didn't get very far did I?" Thom asked softly. Varr smiled,

"We can still run if you want."

"And live with the sheep," Thomar laughed. Varr laughed too because he couldn't help himself and then he leaned down and kissed Thomar softly, and gently, slowly realising that there was no need to hurry because they had all the time in the world. 

A loud, breathy moan coming through the wall ruined the mood as both of the boys stared at each other, wide eyed, before dissolving into giggles. A steady  _thump, thump, thump_ was heard and the two snickered. 

"Is that Arfer and Lese?" Thomar asked, trying to muffle his laughter with his hands. 

"It could be Leo and Vern for all we know," Varr grinned and pried Thom's hands away from his face so he could kiss him again. Then he rolled off of the boy and pulled him into his arms, the sun warming them up in their bed,

"Try and ignore them," Varr offered.

"Try is a good word," Thomar made a face, and then he snuggled up to Varr, "But I can try. We can try."

"Aye, we can."

**-THRIS-**

He didn't think he'd wake up again. He deserved to die, and let the Gods cast him down to icy hell down below. And yet that was not his fate because for some reason Thris found himself waking up. His mind came awake first and he was aware of the soft sheets covering his body naked body, which felt ridiculously heavy. His head was throbbing and his limbs ached. His eyelids were like lead and it took a few tries for Thris to pry them open. He was parched but when he tried to move a shot of pain came from his gut and spread through his body, causing him to moan weakly.

"Thanks Gods you're awake," Chardwen whispered and Thris tensed. He hadn't noticed the man until then - sitting in an armchair by the bed. Through the window he could see snow covered trees, and the sun sinking behind the horizon. A fire was roaring happily in the hearth, but it was clearly not the Tower hearth. Thris struggled to sit up, his head swimming, and Dwen was at his side, helping him up, his hands gentle and soft though Thris didn't know why. He betrayed him, he hurt him. If anything Chardwen should've finished him off, and not help him sit up. But his hands felt good, and so Thris didn't push him away.

"Where are we?" he croaked, "What happened?"

Chardwen sat back down. He was wearing clean clothes, his hair curling into his eyes. He looked exhausted, but relieved too. There was a bruise on his chin and a cleaned cut above his eyebrow, but he didn't look too bad. Actually he didn't look bad at all. He looked wonderful.

"The Tower burned down," Dwen said gently, passing Thris a glass of water which the man gulped down greedily, ignoring the tightness in his throat, "We won. The Killingard are dead."

"O-Oh," Thris tried to remember what happened, "W-Where's Iriro?"

"Upstairs. Sleeping probably," Chardwen smiled, "She was dying of worry about you."

"What is this place?" Thris whispered, looking around. There was a beautiful golden ornamented mirror on one wall, and a chandelier full of new candles overhead. His hands trembled and he almost dropped the empty glass so Dwen took it from him carefully. 

"It's the Padrilon country house," he explained with a shrug, "Or at least one of them...," his smile disappeared and he frowned, "How are you feeling?"

"W-What? Oh. I'm fine," Thris looked away, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. He didn't know why Chardwen cared.

"I thought you wouldn't make it," Chardwen's expression was kind and warm and Thris tried to comprehend why - hadn't Dwen been furious with him? Thris' insides twisted. He hated himself for what he did, for all of it, and he needed Dwen to understand that. He turned to him pleadingly,

"Dwen I-"

"No," Chardwen interrupted. He reached out and took Thris' hand in his, almost like a reflex. His palm was soft, "I don't need you to explain yourself. I...I was so angry with you. Furious," he shook his head as if it were a bad memory, "But you were passed out for hours, and I sat here and watched your chest rise and fall and I felt this hopeless desperation. I needed you to live," he looked at Thris and his eyes were full of sincerity, "and I prayed to the Gods, and I promised that I'd forgive you everything,  _everything,_ if only you wake up," he smiled then, though his eyes were shining with tears, and squeezed Thris' hand, "and you woke up. That's all I care about."

"Why?" Thris whispered, "I have to go anyway. Why do you care so much?"

Chardwen looked down at the blankets, but didn't let go of Thris' hand, "I don't know," he mumbled, "I just...I don't think I'd make it if you die."

Thris snatched his hand back and looked at the door to try and hide his tears. Chardwen's words...they were too much. Thris didn't deserve his kindness and warmth, and whatever else he wanted to give him.

"Don't be an idiot," he whispered. He felt the bed dip when Chardwen sat next to him and he turned so his back was to the man, unable to look at him. His chest hurt more than the wounds beneath the bandages wrapped around his bare stomach. 

"Thris."

"What?" Thris whispered shakily. He felt Dwen's hand when the man ran it down his back gently, 

"I love you," it sounded broken, hopeless. Thris couldn't stop the sob that escaped him and he squeezed his eyes shut.  _It's a dream. It's not real. You don't deserve it._

"P-Please don't say that," he whispered, trying to stop the tears. 

"I won't if you don't want me to," Chardwen sounded sad, "but it's true. I know...I know you don't feel the same. And that's alright, I don't need you to. I just need you to stay...," his voice faltered and then his strong arms were wrapping around Thris' waist and the redhead couldn't do anything to fight it as Dwen pulled him against his chest, "Just stay."

"I don't d-deserve you," Thris whispered, "I don't deserve any of this."

"Yes you do. You turned it all around, you helped us," Chardwen pressed his face against the back of Thris' neck, "it doesn't matter who you were or what you did. I don't care about that. All I care about is you, and the helplessness I felt when I thought you'd die. You might've done things in the past but it doesn't matter anymore...you chose the right side in the end."

"I still don't deserve you," Thris whispered again, but the knot in his chest was loosening up. He pressed his hands over Dwen's arms wrapped around his waist.

"But I deserve you," Chardwen murmured, "Don't I?"

"You deserve anything you want."

"Well, I want you," Chardwen kissed the back of Thris' neck and the man shivered. His wound was throbbing but not badly. He didn't know who stabbed him, or who healed him but he supposed it didn't matter anymore. He leaned back against Dwen and they just sat in silence as the room grew steadily darker, another night coming on. At the same time the previous night Thris had been battling himself whether he should betray Dwen or run. Now he was battling himself whether to admit his feelings and forgive himself for what he did, or run. He didn't know what to say - didn't even know if he wanted to say anything. For now he just enjoyed the feeling of Chardwen so close to him. He felt alive. He was alive.

"They signed against us," Dwen whispered.

"What?" Thris asked numbly.

"The Freedom Decree. They resigned it against the Nurturers. I'm still a slave."

Thris turned in Chardwen's arms, his heart twisting, "I'm so sorry," he whispered, and he meant it. Dwen deserved to be free. They all did. But the Bastard just kissed his forehead,

"It doesn't matter though. Not to me," he whispered, "Earlier today Padrilon legitimised us all as his children."

"W-What?" Thris asked shakily.

"Don't worry," Chardwen smiled and brushed his hair from his forehead, "We'll talk about it tomorrow. Or whenever. We're staying here for a while," he was so close that Thris could feel his breath on his lips. His heart skipped a beat. It felt intimate the way it never had before, "You can stay with me if you want."

Thris looked at Dwen, to see if there was even a flicker of doubt in the man's eyes. There wasn't. Thris crumbled - he just couldn't take it. He felt broken, and yet perfectly put back together. He leaned forward and Chardwen met him halfway, and they kissed softly and a burden was lifted off of Thris' shoulders. Chardwen loved him, he was forgiven. He didn't have to worry about if he'd be alive the next day anymore because he was in the arms of someone who'd protect him, keep him safe, no matter what. 

"You're an idiot if you think I could ever not love you," Thris whispered.

 _Fin._  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who commented,  
> and to everyone who will comment,  
> and to everyone who took time to read my first original story,  
> and to everyone who left kudos,  
> and to everyone who supports my stories no matter what.  
> I love you all x  
> Ps. probably coming back tomorrow with a new fanfiction so you know what to do ;)  
> ~Fly on.


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